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Covers  restored  and/or  lai 
Couverture  restaurde  et/ou  pellicul^e 


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Q 
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0 
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0 
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n 

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Ce  document  est  i\lm6  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqud  ci-dessous 

10X                              14X                              18X                              22X 

26X 

SOX 

l^ 

12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


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first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — »» (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 

Maps,  plate!«.  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
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Les  images  suivantes  ont  6t6  reproduites  avec  le 
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conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 

Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimde  sont  film6s  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impref    ion  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  filmds  en  commenpant  par  la 
premiere  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'ifiustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  — ►  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 

Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  Stre 
filmds  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diffdrents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  Stre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clich6,  il  est  film6  d  partir 
de  Tangle  supdrieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  n^cessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


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2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

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A  Novel. 
By  Mrs.  MAY  AGNES  FLEMING, 

AWraOB  ^F"  OUT  EARLSCOUBrs  WIFE,"  "■J.  rSSBISlB  SBOBST,'^  "  A  WOlTDEBFUl  WOUAlf'A  lUB  1UBMU9V 
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v 


Pnm  Pitenon'g  ifagaaine,  by  special  arrange- 
Maot  with  Mr.  Charles  J.  Peterson. 

^r  

CHAPTER  L 

LIB  NOEL'S  DEITR-BBO. 

Thb  December  night  bad  closed  In  wet  and 
WlM  aronnd  Thetford  Towers.  It  stood  down 
la  the  low  ground,  smothered  In  trees,  a  tall, 
gaunt,  hoary  pilr  of  Bray  stone,  all  peaks,  and 
gables  and  stacks  of  chimneys,  and  rook-in- 
fagted  turrets.  A  queer,  massive,  old  house, 
built  in  the  days  of  James  the  First,  by  Sir 
Hugo  Thetford,  the  first  baronet  of  the  name, 
and  a»  staunch  and  strong  now  as  then. 

The  December  day  had  been  overcast  and 
gloomy,  but  the  December  night  was  stormy  and 
wild.  The  wind  worried  and  wailed  through  the 
tossing  trees  witli  wbistlinK  moiins  and  shrlbks 
that  were  desolately  human,  and  ramie  me  think 
at  the  sobb:ng  banshe).  of  Irish  legends.  Far 
away  the  mighty  voice  of  the  stormy  sea  min- 
gled its  hoarse  bass,  and  the  rain  lashed  the 
windows  in  long,  slanting  lines.  A  desolate 
■Ight  and  a  desolate  scene  without;  more  deso- 
late still  within,  for  on  his  bed^his  tempestuous 
winter  night,  the  last  ot  the  Thetford  baronet* 
laydylng. 

Through  the  driving  wind  and  lashing  rain 
S  groom  g  lUoped  along  the  high  road  to  the 
VlIlBge  at  break-neck  speed.  His  errand  was 
to  Dr.  Qale,  the  village  surgeon,  which  gentle- 
man he  found  just  preparing  to  go  to  bed. 

"  For  God's  sake,  doctor! "  cried  the  man, 
White  as  a  sheet,  "come  with  mo  at  oneel  Sir 
Noel's  kiUcdl " 

Dr  Gale,  albeit  phlegmatic,  staggered  back, 
and  stared  at  the  speaker  aghast. 

"Wliatt    Sir  Noel  killed?" 

"  We're  afraid  so,  doctor;  none  of  us  knows 
for  certain  snre,  but  lie  lies  there  like  a  dead 
man.  Come  quick,  for  tlie  love  of  goodness,  If 
yon  want  to  do  any  service! " 

"  I'll  be  with  you  in  five  minutes,"  said  the 
doctor,  leaving  the  room  to  order  his  horse  and 
don  his  hat  and  great  coat 
^Dr.  Gale  was  as  good  as  his  word.  In  less 
n  ten  minutes  he  and  the  groom  were  fljtug 
'BBsijr  along  to  Thetford  To^ 


"How  did  It  happen?"  sskeu  ll^  doctor, 
hardly  .ible  to  speak  fo:  the  tuiious  p.oe  at 
which  th-^y  were  g'^in^.  "  I  thought  he  w  »s  at 
Lady  StokesU  lie's  bait" 

"  He  did  go,"  replied  the  groom;  "leastwiNys 
he  took  my  lady  there;  but  he  said  he  had  a 
friend  to  meet  from  London  at  the  Royal  Geor,:?e 
to-night,  and  he  rode  back.  We  don't,  none  of 
us,  know  bow  it  happened;  for  a  better  or  surer 
rider  than  Sir  Noel  there  ain't  in  Devonshire; 
but  Diana  must  have  slipped  and  threw  him. 
She  came  gulloplng  in  by  herself  about  half  an 
hour  ago  all  blown;  and  me  and  three  more  set 
off  to  look  for  Sir  Noel.  We  found  him  about 
twenty  yards  from  the  gates,  lying  on  his  face 
in  the  mud,  and  as  sti&  ind  cold  as  if  he  was 
dead." 

"  And  yoa  brought  him  home  and  came  for 
me?" 

"  Directly,  sir.  Some  wanted  to  .send  word 
to  my  lady;  but  Mrs.  Hilliard,  she  thought  how 
you  had  best  see  him  first,  sir,  so's  we'd  know 
what  danger  he  was  really  In  before  alarming 
her  ladyship." 

"  Quite  right,  Wmiam.  Let  uc  trust  It  may 
not  be  serious.  Had  Sir  Nf^l  been — I  mean,  I 
suppose  he  had  been  diningV " 

"Well,  doctor,"  said  William,  "Ameaud, 
that's  his  valty  ae  chambre,  you  know,  said  ho 
thought  he  had  taken  more  wine  than  was  pru- 
dent going  to  Lady  dtokestone's  ball,  which  her 
ladyshii)  Is  very  particular  about  such,  you 
know,  sir." 

"  Ahl  that  accounts,"  said  the  doctor,  thought- 
fully; "  and  now,  William,  my  man,  don't  let's 
talk  any  more,  for  I  feel  completely  blown 
already." 

Ten  minutes'  sharp  riding  brought  them  to 
the  great  entrance  gates  of  Thetford  Towers. 
An  old  woman  came  out  of  a  little  lodge,  built 
In  tlie  huge  masonry,  to  admit  them,  and  they 
dashed  up  the  long  winding  avenue  under  the 
surging  oaks  and  chestnuts.  Five  minutes  more 
and  Dr.  Qale  was  nmning  up  a  polished  stair- 
case of  black,  slippery  oak,  down  an  equally 
wide  and  black  and  slippery  passage,  and  into 
the  chamber  where  Sir  Noel  lay. 

A  grand  and  stately  chamber,  lofty,  dark  and 
wainscoted,  where  the  wax  candles  made  lumi- 


i  •'  1 


nouB  clouds  In  the  daifcneas,  and  th«  wdoiMm 
on  the  marble  hearth  failed  to  give  heat.    Tto 

oak  floor  was  overlaid  with  Persian  rugs;  tlM 
windows  were  draped  in  green  velvet  tmd  tbs 
chairs  were  upholstered  in  the  same.  Near  tbe 
center  of  the  apartment  stood  the  bed,  tall, 
broad,  quaintly  carved,  curtained  In  green  vel- 
vet, and  on  it,  cold  and  lifeless,  lay  the  wounded 
man.  Mrs.  Hilliard,  the  housekeeper,  sat  beside 
him,  and  Ameaud,  the  Swiss  valet,  with  afright- 
ened  face,  stood  near  the  fire. 

"  Verj-  shocklnR  business  this,  Mrs.  Hilliard," 
said  the  doctor,  removing  his  hat  and  gloves— 
"  very  shocking.     How  Is  he  ?    Any  signs  fA  \ 

consciousness  yet  f  "  1 '   /  i 

"None  whatever,   sir,"  replied  the  house-  \     'l 

keeper,  rising.  *'  I  am  so  thankful  yon  have 
come.  We,  none  of  us,  laieW  what  to  do  for 
him.  and  it  is  dreadful  to  see  him  lying  thew 
like  that." 

She  moved  away,  leaving  the  doctor  to  his 
examination.  Ten  minutes,  fifteen,  twenty 
passed;  then  Dr.  Gale  turned  to  her  with  a  very 
pale,  grave  face. 

"It  is  too  late,  Mrs.  HUliard.  Sir  Noel  la  a 
dead  man!" 

"Dead!"  repeated  Mrs.  Hilliard,  trembling 
and  holding  by  a  chair.  "Oh,  my  ladyl  tm 
lady! " 

"I  am  going  to  bleed  him,"  said  the  dootOK 
"to  restore  consciousness.  He  may  last  unM 
morning.    Send  for  Lady  Thetford  at  once," 

Ameaud  started  up.  Mrs.  Hilliard  looked  at 
him,  wringing  her  hands. 

"Break  it  gently,  Ameaud.  Oh,  my  ladyt 
my  dear  lady!  So  young  and  so  pretty — and 
oiily  married  five  months!  " 

The  Swiss  valet  left  the  room.  Dr.  Qale  got 
out  his  lancet,  and  desired  Mrs.  Hilliard  to  hoM 
the  basin.  At  first  the  blood  refused  to  flow- 
hut  presently  it  came  in  a  little,  feeble  stream. 
The  closed  eyelids  fluttered;  there  was  a  rcstleai 
movement,  and  Sir  Noel  jhetford  opened  his 
eyes  in  tills  mortal  life  once  more.  He  loolud 
first  at  the  doctor,  g»ve  and  pale,  then  at  the 
housekeeper,  sobbing  on  her  knt!og  by  the  bed. 
He  was  a  young  man  of  seven-aniVtwonty,  ftdr 
and  handsome,  aa  It  was  In  tbe  natoM  it  lb* 
Thetfords  to  be. 


.^f 


t 


SIR    NOEL'S    HEIR. 


"  What  is  it  r  "  he  taintly  asli6d.  "  What  is  the 
matter?" 

"  You  are  hurt,  Sir  Noel,"  the  doctor  an- 
Bwered,  ladly;  "  you  have  been  thrown  from 
your  horse.  Don't  attempt  to  move — you  are 
not  able." 

"  I  remember— I  remember,"  said  the  young 
man,  a  gleam  of  recollection  lighting  up  his 
ghastly  face.  "  Diana  slipped,  and  I  waa  thrown. 
How  long  ago  is  that  ?  " 

"  About  an  hour." 

"  And  I  am  hurt  1    Badly  ?  " 

He  tlxed  his  eyes  with  a  powerful  look  on  the 
doctor's  face,  and  that  good  man  shrunk  away 
from  the  news  he  mast  tell. 

"Badly?"  reiterated  the  young  baronet,  in 
a  peremptory  tone,  that  told  all  of  his  nature. 
"  Ahl  you  won't  speak,  I  seel  I  am,  and  I  fei^'i 
— I  feel.     Doctor,  am  1  going  to  die '/  " 

He  asked  the  question  with  a  sudden  wildness 
— a  sudden  horror  of  death,  halt  starting  up  in 
bed.  Still  the  doctor  did  not  speak;  still  .Mrs. 
HllUard's  suppressed  sobs  echoed  in  the  stillness 
of  the  vast  room. 

Sir  Noel  Thetford  full  back  on  his  pillow,  a 
shadow  as  gliajstly  and  awful  as  death  itself 
lying  on  his  face.  But  he  was  a  brave  man  and 
the  descendant  of  a  fearless  race;  and  except 
for  one  convulsive  throo  that  shook  him  from 
head  to  foot,  nothing  told  his  horror  of  his  sud- 
den fate.  There  was  a  wt^ird  pause.  Sir  Noel 
lay  staring  straight  at  the  oaken  wall,  his  l)lood- 
less  face  awful  in  its  intensity  of  bidden  feeling. 
Rain  and  wind  outside  rose  higher  and  higher, 
and  beat  clamorously  at  the  windows;  ara  stiU 
above  them,  mighty  and  tcrritjlc,  rose  tte  iar- 
oft  voice  of  the  ceaseless  sea. 

The  doctor  was  the  Urat  to  speak,  in  hushed 
and  awe-struck  tones. 

"  My  dear  Sir  Noel,  the  time  is  short,  and  I 
can  do  little  or  nothing.  Shall  I  send  for  the 
Kev.  .Mr.  Knight  ?  " 

The  dying  eyes  turned  upon  him  with  a  steady 
gaze. 

"  How  long  have  I  to  live  ?  I  want  the  truth." 

"  Sir  Noel,  it  Is  very  hard,  yet  it  must  be 
Heaven's  will.    But  a  few  hours,  I  fear." 

"So   soon  y  "  said  the  dying  man.     "I  did 

not  think Send    for  Lady  Thetford,"   he 

cried,  tvildly,  lialf  raising  himself  again — "  send 
for  Lady  Thetford  at  oncel  " 

"We  have  sent  for  her,"  said  the  doctor; 
"  she  will  be  hero  very  soon.  But  the  clergjnnan. 
Sir  Noel — the  clergyman.  Shall  we  uoi  send  for 
him?" 

"Nol"  said  Sir  Noel,  sharply.  "What  do  I 
want  of  a  clergyman  V  Leave  ine,  both  of  you. 
Stay,  you  can  give  me  something,  (iale,  to  keep 
up  my  strength  to  the  hust?  I  shall  need  it. 
Now  go.  I  want  to  see  no  one  but  Lady  Thet- 
ford." 

"  My  lady  has  comr-1 "  cried  Mrs.  Ililliard, 
starting  to  her  feet;  and  at  the  same  moment 
the  door  was  opened  by  Arneaud,  and  a  lady  in 
a  sparkling  ball-dress  swept  in.  She  stood  for 
a  moment  on  the  threshold,  looking  from  face 
to  face  with  a  bewildered  air. 

She  was  very  young — scarcely  twenty,  and 
unmistakably  beautiful.  Taller  'han  common, 
willowy  and  sUght,  with  great,  dark  eyes,  flow- 
ing dark  ciu-ls,  and  a  colorless  olive  skin.  The 
darkly  handsome  face,  with  pride  in  every  fea- 
ture, was  blanched  now  almost  to  the  hue  of  the 
dying  man's;  but  that  glittering^  bride-like  flg- 
nre,  witk  its  misty  point-lace  and  blazing  dia- 
monils,  seemed  iu  strange  contradiction  to  the 
idea  of  death. 

"My  lady!  my  lady!"  cried  Mrs  Ullliard,  with 
a  suppressed  sob,  moving  near  her. 

The  deep,  dark  eyes  turned  upon  her  for  an 
tastant,  then  wandered  back  to  the  bed;  but 
she  never  moved. 

"Ada,"  said  Sir  Noel,  faintly,  "come  here. 
The  rest  of  you  go.    1  want  no  one  but  my  wife. ' ' 

The  graceful  llgure  In  its  shining  robes  and 
jewels,  flitted  over  and  dropped  on  its  knees  by 
his  Bide.  Tlie  other  three  quitted  the  room  and 
closed  the  door,  husband  and  wife  were  alone 
with  oidy  death  to  overhear. 

"  Ada,  my  poor  girl,  only  frre  months  a  wife — 
H  is  very  hard  on  you;  but  it  seems  1  must  go. 
I  have  a  great  deal  to  say  to  you,  Ada— that  I 
«un't  die  without  saying.  1  have  been  a  viUain, 
Ada — the  greatest  villain  on  earth  to  you." 

She  had  not  spoken .  She  did  not  speak.  She 
kjielt  beside  him,  white  and  still,  lookhig  and 
listening  with  strange  calm.  There  was  a  sort 
of  white  horror  In  her  facef  but  very  little  of  the 
despairing  grief  one  would  naturally  look  for  in 
the  dying  man's  wife. 

"  I  don't  ask  you  to  forgive  me,  Ada— I  have 
wronged  you  too  deeply  for  that;  but  I  loved 


you  so  dearly — so  dearlyl  Oh,  my  God!  what 
a  lost  and  cruel  wretch  1  have  Ix-en." 

He  lay  panting  and  gasping  for  breath.  There 
was  a  draught  which  Dr.  Gale  bad  left  standing 
near,  and  he  made  a  motion  for  it.  She  held  it 
to  his  lips,  and  he  drank;  her  hand  was  un- 
steady and  spilled  It,  but  still  she  never  spoke. 

"  J  cannot  speak  loudly,  .Ada,"  he  said,  in  a 
husky  whisper,  "  my  strength  seems  to  grow 
less  every  moment;  but  I  want  you  to  promise 
me  before  1  begin  my  story  that  yoc.  will  do 
what  I  ask.    Promisel  promise!" 

He  grasped  her  wrist  and  ghired  at  her  almost 
fiercely. 

"  Promisel"  he  reiterated.  "Promisel  prom- 
isel" 

"  I  promise,"  she  said,  with  white  lips. 

"May  Heaven  deal  with  you,  Ada  Thetford, 
as  you  keep  that  promise.    Listen  now." 

'The  wild  night  wore  on.  The  cries  of  the 
wind  in  the  trees  grew  louder  and  wilder  and 
more  descjlate.  The  -ain  beat  and  beat  against 
the  curtained  glass;  the  candles  grettered  and 
flared;  and  the  woiHl-lire  flickered  and  died  out. 

And  still,  long  after  the  midnight  hour  had 
tolled,  Ada,  Lady  Thetford,  in  her  lace  and 
silk  and  jewels,  "knelt  beside  her  young  hus- 
band, and  listened  to  the  dark  and  shameful 
story  he  Mad  to  tell.  She  never  once  faltered, 
she  never  spoke  or  stirred;  but  her  face  was 
whiter  than  her  dress,  and  her  great  dark  eyes 
dilated  with  a  horror  too  intense  for  words. 

The  voice  of  the  dying  man  sarik  lower  and 
lower — it  fell  to  a  dull,  choking  whisper  at  last. 

"  Vou  have  heard  all,'"  he  said  huskilv. 

"All?" 

The  word  dropp<Ml  from  her  lips  like  Ice — the 
frozen  look  of  blank  horror  never  left  her  face. 

"  And  you  will  keep  your  promise  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"God  bless  you!  lean  die  now!  Oh,  Ada! 
I  cannot  ask  you  to  f<jrgive  me:  but  I  love  you 
so  much — so  much  I  Kiss  me  once,  Ada,  before 
Igo." 

Ills  voice  failed  even  with  the  words.  Lady 
Thetford  bent  down  and  kLsscd  him,  but  her  lii>s 
were  as  cold  and  white  as  his  own. 

They  were  the  last  words  Sir  No<-l  Thetford 
ever  spoke.  The  restless  sea  was  sullenly  ebb- 
ing, and  the  soul  of  the  man  was  floating  away 
with  it.  The  gray,  chill  light  of  a  new  day  was 
dawning  over  the  Devonshire  fields,  rainy  and 
raw,  and  with  its  first  pale  ray  the  soul  of  Noel 
Thetford,  baronet,  left  the  earth  forever. 

An  hour  later,  Mrs.  Hilliard  and  Dr.  Gale 
ventured  to  enter.  They  had  rapped  again  and 
again;  but  there  had  been  no  response,  and 
alarmed  they  had  come  in.  Stark  and  rigid 
already  lay  what  was  mortal  of  the  Lord  of 
Thetford  Towers;  and  still  on  her  knees,  with 
that  frozen  look  on  her  face,  knelt  his  living 
wife. 

"  My  lailyl  my  lady!"  cried  Mrs.  Ullliard,  her 
tears  tailing  like  rain.  "Oh!  my  dear  lady, 
eonie  away!" 

She  looked  up;  then  again  at  the  marble  form 
on  the  bed,  and  without  a  word  or  cry,  slipped 
back  In  the  old  housekeeper's  arms  in  a  dead 
faint. 


CHAPTER    II. 

CiPT.    EVEBARD. 

It  was  a  very  grtind  and  stately  ceremonial, 
that  funeral  procession  from  Thetford  Towers. 
A  week  after  that  stormy  December  night  they 
laid  Sir  Noel  Thetford  in  the  family  vault,  where 
generation  after  generation  of  his  race  sle,)t 
their  last  long  sleep.  The  gentry  for  miles  and 
i:iiles  around  were  there,  and  among  them  came 
the  heir-at-law,  the  Rev.  Horace  Thetford,  only 
an  obscure  country  curate  now,  but  failing  male 
heirs  to  Sir  Noel,  successor  to  the  Thetford  es- 
tate and  flfteen  tliousand  a  year. 

In  a  bedchamber,  luxurious  as  wealth  can 
make  a  room,  lay  Lady  Thetford,  dangerously 
11!.  It  was  not  a  brain  fever  exactly,  but  some- 
thing very  like  it  into  which  she  had  fallen, 
coming  out  of  that  death-like  swoon.  It  was  all 
very  sad  and  shocking — the  sudden  death  of 
the  guy  and  handsome  young  baroiut,  and  the 
serious  illness  of  his  poor  wife.  The  funeral 
oration  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Knight,  rector  of  St.. 
Gosport,  from  the  text,  "  In  the  midst  of  life  we 
are  in  death,"  was  most  eloiiucnt  and  impres- 
sive, and  Women  with  tender  hearts  shed  tears, 
and  men  listeiu'd  with  grave,  sad  faces.  It 
was  such  a  little  while — oidy  live  short  months 
— since  the  wedding-bells  had  nmg,  and  there 
had  been  bonllres  and  feasting  throughout  the 
village;  and  Sir  Noel,  looking  so  i)roud  and  so 
happy,  bad  driven  up  to  the  illuminated  ball 


with  his  handsome  bride.  Only  five  months; 
and  now— and  nowl 

The  funeral  was  over  and  everybody  iiad  gona 
back  home — everybody  but  the  Rev.  Horace 
Thetfonl,  who  lingered  to  see  the  result  of  lay 
lady's  illness,  and  if  she  died,  to  take  possession 
of  his  estate.  It  was  unutterably  dismal  in  tho 
dark,  hushed  old  house,  with  Sir  Noel's  ghost 
seeming  to  haunt  every  room— very  dismal  and 
ghastly  this  waiting  to  step  into  dead  people's 
shoes.  But  then  there  was  flfteen  thousand  a 
year,  and  the  Unest  place  in  Devonshire;  and 
the  Rev.  Horace  would  have  faced  a  whole  regi- 
ment of  ghosts  and  lived  in  a  vault  for  that. 

But  Lady  Thetford  did  not  die.  Slowly  but 
surely,  the  fever  that  had  worn  her  to  a  shadow 
left  her;  aiul  by-and-bye,  when  the  early  prim- 
roses pecpid  through  the  first  blackened  earth, 
she  was  able  to  come  down-staiRr— to  come 
down  feeble  and  frail  and  weak,  colorless  as 
death  and  as  silent  and  cold. 

The  Rev.  Horace  went  back  to  Yorkshire,  yet 
not  entirely  iu  despair.  Female  heirs  could  not 
inherit  Thetford— he  stood  a  chance  yet;  and 
!ie  widow,  not  yet  twenty,  was  left  alone  in  the 
dreary  old  nian.-iim.  People  were  very  sorry 
for  her,  and  came  to  sic  i.  r,  and  begged  her  to 
be  resigned  to  her  great  loss;  and  Mr.  Knight 
preached  endless  homilies  cjii  i)atienee,  and 
hope,  and  submission,  and  Lady  Thetford  lis- 
tened to  them  just  as  if  they  had  bi'cn  talking 
Greek.  She  never  spoke  of  hi  r  diad  husband 
— she  shivered  at  the  mention  of  his  name;  but 
that  niu'lit  at  his  dying  bed  hud  eliaiiged  her  as 
never  woman  clumgcd  Ixforc.  From  a  bright, 
aniljitious,  pleasure-loving  girl,  she  had  grown 
into  a  silent,  haggard,  hopeless  woman.  All 
the  sunny  spring  days  she  sat  by  the  window  of 
her  boudoir,  gazing  at  the  misty,  boundless  sea, 
pale  and  mute — ilead  in  life. 

The  friends  who  came  to  see  her,  and  Mr. 
Knight,  the  rector,  were  a  little  puzzled  'ly  this 
abnormal  case,  but  very  sorry  tor  tlie  pale 
young  widow,  and  disposed  to  tliink  better  of 
her  than  ever  before.  It  must  surely  have  been 
the  vilest  slander  that  she  had  n(')t  cared  for 
her  husband,  that  she  had  married  him  oidy  for 
his  wealth  and  title;  and  that  young  soldier — 
that  captain  of  drag<ions— luu'-t  have  been  a 
myth.  She  might  have  been  engaired  to  him, 
of  course,  before  Sir  Noel  came,  that  Ki'cmed  to 
be  an  undisputed  fact;  and  she  miijlit  have 
jilted  him  tor  a  wealthier  lover,  that  was  all  a 
common  case.  But  she  must  have  lovid  her 
husband  very  dearly,  or  she  never  would  haV8 
been  broken-hea -ted  like  this  at  his  loss. 

Spring  deepened  into  summer.  Tlie  June 
roses  in  the  flower-gardens  of  Thetford  were  in 
rosy  bloom,  and  my  lady  was  ill  again — very, 
very  ill.  There  was  an  ciuinent  physician  down 
from  London,  and  there  was  a  trail  little  mite 
of  babyhood  lying  among  laeo  and  flannel: 
and  the  eminent  physician  shook  his  head,  and 
looked  portentously  grave  as  he  glanced  from 
the  crib  to  the  bed.  Whiter  than  the  pillows, 
whiter  than  snow,  Ada,  Lady  Thetford,  lay, 
hovering  iu  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Ueith; 
that  other  feeble  little  life  sccr.ed  flickering, 
too — it  was  so  even  a  toss  up  between  the  great 
rival  powers,  Life  cud  Death,  that  astraw  might 
have  turned  the  scale  either  way.  So  slight 
being  that  baby-hold  of  ga-sping  breath,  that 
Mr.  Knight,  in  the  absence  of  any  higher 
authority,  and  in  the  unconsciousness  of  th'^ 
mother,  took  it  upon  himself  to  baptize  it.  So 
a  china  bowl  was  brought,  and  Mrs.  Ililliard 
held  the  bundle  of  flannel  and  long  white  robes, 
and  the  child  was  named — the  name  which  the 
inetlier  hud  said  weeks  ago  it  was  to  hv  called, 
if  a  boy — Rupert  Noel  Vandclcur  Thetford;  for 
it  WIS  a  male  heir,  and  the  Rev.  Horace's  cake 
was  dough. 

Days  wi  IU  by,  weeks,  months,  and  to  the  sup- 
prise'of  till'  1  liiinent  physician  neither  mother 
nor  child  i'.  d.  Summer  waned,  winter  ro- 
turned;  and  ilie  anniversary  of  Sir  Noel's  death 
came  round,  and  my  lady  was  able  to  walk 
ilown-stairs,  shivering  in  the  warm  air  under 
all  her  wraps.  She  had  expressed  no  pleasure 
or  thankfulness  In  her  own  safety,  or  that  of  her 
child.  She  had  asked  eagerly  if  it  were  a  boy  or 
a  girl;  and  hearing  its  sex,  had  turned  hir  face 
to  the  wall,  and  lay  for  hours  and  hours  speech- 
less and  motionless.  Yet  it  was  very  dear  to 
her,  too,  by  fits  and  starts,  as  it  were.  Slio  would 
hold  it  in  her  arms  half  a  day,  Bometimei<  coT- 
erlng  It  with  kisses,  with  jealous,  passionate 
love,  crying  over  it,  and  half  smothering  It  with 
caresses;  and  then,  again.  In  a  fit  of  stillen 
apathy,  would  resign  It  to  its  nurse,  and  not  ask 
to  see  It  for  hours.  It  was  very  strange  and  lu- 
«zpU«able,  her  sonduct,  altogether;   more  esr 


lODths; 

tgone 
oraoe 
"f  I'jy 

ll'HIlIuU 

ill  tho 
ghoBt 
ml  and 
eople'8 
saud  a 
e;  and 
le  regl- 
lai. 

ly  but 
budow 
'  prim- 
,  earth. 


SIR    NOEL'S    HEIR. 


peolaUf,  an  with  her  return  to  health  came  no 
ntum  of  cheerfolnesa  or  hope.  The  dark  gloom 
that  OTerahadowed  her  life  seemed  to  settle  into 
a  cbronic  disease,  rooted  and  incurable.  She 
never  went  out;  she  returned  no  visits;  she 
gave  no  invitations  to  those  who  came  to  repeat 
theirs.  Gradually  people  fell  oft;  they  grew 
tired  of  that  sullen  culdness  hi  which  Lady 
Thi.tford  wrapped  herst^lf  us  in  a  mantle,  until 
Mr.  KiiiKht  and  Dr.  (iale  grew  to  lie  almost  her 
only  viiiitors.  "  Mariana,  in  tlie  Mouteddrunge," 
never  led  a  more  scjiitary  and  dreary  existence 
than  the  hand-ioiiiu  young  widow,  who  dwelt  a 
reclase  at  Thetford  Towers;  for  she  was  very 
handsome  still,  of  a  pale  mix)nliKht  sort  of 
beauty,  the  great,  dark  eyes,  aini  aliundaiit  dark 
hair,  making  her  fl.ted  and  changeles.s  pallor  all 
the  more  remarkable. 

Months  and  seasons  went  by.  Summers  fol- 
lowed winters,  and  Lady  Thetford  still  buried 
herself  alive  in  the  gray  old  manor— and  the 
little  heir  was  six  years  old.  A  delicate  child 
still,  puny  and  sickly,  and  petted  and  spoil'xi, 
and  indulged  in  every  childish  whim  and  caprice. 
His  mother's  image  and  idol— no  look  of  the 
fair-haired,  sanguine,  blue-eyed  Ttietford  sturdi- 
ness  in  his  little,  pinched,  pale  face,  large,  dark 
eyes,  and  crisp,  t)lack  ringlets.  The  years  hail 
gone  by  Uke  a  slow  dream;  life  was  stagnant 
enough  in  St.  (iosport,  doubly  stagnant  at  Thet- 
ford Towers,  whose  mistress  rarely  went  abroad 
beyrind  her  own  gates,  save  wlien  she  took  her 
little  son  out  for  an  airing  in  tho  pony  phae- 
t<jn. 

She  batl  taken  him  out  for  one  of  those  airings 
on  a  .July  afternoon,  when  lie  had  nearly  ac- 
«ompiished  his  seventh  year.  They  had  driven 
seaward  some  miles  froiii  the  manor-house,  and 
Ijuly  Thetford  and  her  little  boj  had  got  out, 
and  were  strolling  leisurely  up  and  down  Hlc 
hot,  white  sands,  while  the  groom  waited  with 
the  pony-plia(!ton  just  within  sight. 

The  long  July  afternoon  wore  on.  Tho  sun 
that  had  blazed  all  day  like  a  wlieel  of  fire, 
dropped  lower  and  lower  into  the  crimson  west. 
TUe  wide  sea  stione  red  with  the  reflections  of 
the  lurid  glory  in  the  heavens,  and  the  number- 
less waves  glittered  and  flashed  as  if  sown  with 
stars.  A  faint,  far-off  breeze  swept  over  tlie 
sea,  salt  and  cold;  and  tho  fishermen's  boats 
danced  along  with  tho  red  sunset  glinting  on 
their  sails. 

Up  and  down,  slowly  and  thoughtfully,  the 
lady  walked,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  wide  sea.  As 
the  rising  breeze  met  her,  siio  drew  the  scarlet 
Bhawl  she  wore  over  her  black  silk  dress  closer 
around  her,  and  glanced  at  her  boy.  The  little 
fellow  was  ninuing  over  tho  sands,  tossing  peli- 
bles  into  the  surf,  and  hunting  for  shells;  and 
her  eves  left  him  and  wandered  onco  more  to 
the  lurid  splendor  of  that  sunset  on  tho  sea. 
It  was  very  quiet  here,  with  no  living  thing  iu 
Bight  ^ut  themselves;  so  tho  lady's  start  of  as- 
tonishment was  natural  wlien,  turning  an  abnipt 
angle  iu  the  path  leading  to  the  shore,  she  saw 
a  man  coming  toward  her  over  the  sands.  A 
tall,  powerful-looking  man  of  thirty,  bronzed 
ana  handsome,  and  with  an  unmistakably  mili- 
tary air,  although  in  plain  black  clothes.  The 
lady  took  a  second  look,  then  sto(xl  stock  still, 
and  gazed  like  one  In  a  dream.  The  man  a\y- 
proachcd,  lifted  his  hat,  and  stood  silent  and 
grave  bef^ire  her. 

"Captain  Everardl" 

"  Yes,  Lady  Thetford — aftcreight  years — Cap- 
tain Everard  again." 

The  deep,  Blr<mg  voice  suited  tlie  bronzed, 
grave  face,  and  both  had  a  peculiar  power  of 
their  own.  Lady  Thetford,  very,  very  pi.lc, 
held  out  ono  fair  jeweled  hand. 

"  Captain  Kverard,  I  am  very  glad  to  see  yor 
again." 

Ue  bent  over  the  little  hand  a  moment,  then 
dropped  it,  and  stood  Imiking  at  her  silent. 

"  1  thought  you  were  in  India,"  she  said,  try- 
ing to  be  at  ease.     "  When  did  you  return  y" 

"  A  month  ago.  Mv  wife  is  clcod.  I,  too,  am 
widowed.  Lady  Thetford." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  it,"  she  said,  gravelv. 
"Did  she  <lle  in  India?" 

"  Yes;  and  I  have  como  home  with  my  little 
daughter." 

"  Yonr  daughter!    Then  she  left  a  child  f " 

"One.  It  ia  on  her  account  I  have  come.  Tho 
climati!  killed  her  motlier.  I  lia<l  mercy  on  her 
daughter,  and  have  brought  her  home." 

"I  ara  sorry  for  your  wife.  Wlty  did  she  re- 
main in  India?" 

"  Because  she  preferred  death  to  leaving  me. 
6he  loTwlTne,  Lady  Thetford!" 

Ilia  powerful  eyes  were  on  her  lace — that  pale, 
itMutltul  (ace,  Into  which  the  blood  came  for  an 


Instant  at  his  words.    She  looked  at  him,  then 
away  over  the  darkening  sea. 

"And  you,  my  lady— you  galjied  the  desire 
of  your  heart,  wealtli,  and  a  title  r  Let  me  hojie 
thi'V  have  made  you  a  happy  woman." 

"I  am  not  happy!" 

"  No  ?  But  you  have  been — you  were  whilt' 
Sir  Noel  lived?" 

"  My  husband  [was  very  good  to  me,  Captain 
Everard.  Ills  death  was  the  greatest  misfortune 
that  could  have  befallen  me." 

"  But  you  are  young,  you  are  free,  you  are 
rich,  you  are  beautiful.  You  may  wear  a  coro- 
net next  time." 

His  face  ami  glance  were  so  darkly  grave,  that 
the  covert  sneer  was  alnio.^t  hidden,  lint  she 
f(  It  it. 

"  I  sliall  never  marry  again.  Captain  Everard.  ' 

"Never?  You  surprise  mel  Si  .v  years — nay, 
seven,  a  widow,  and  witli  innumerBbie  attrac- 
tions.   Oh,  you  cannot  moan  itl" 

She  made  a  sudden,  passionate  gcstiu-e — looked 
at  him,  then  awaj. 

"  It  is  useless — worse  than  useless,  folly,  mad- 
ness, to  lift  the  veil  from  the  irrevocable  past. 
But  don't  you  think,  don't  you.  Lady  Thetford, 
that  you  might  have  been  e<iually  happy  if  you 
had  married  mel" 

Slie  made  no  reply.  She  stood  gazing  sea- 
ward, cold  and  still. 

"  1  was  madly,  insanely,  absurdly  in  love  with 
pretty  Ada  Vandileur  in  tliose  days,  and  I  think 
1  would  have  made  her  a  good  husband;  better, 
however— forgive  me — than  I  ever  made  my' 
poor  dead  wife.  But  you  were  wise  and  ambi- 
tious, my  pretty  Ada,  and  b",rtered  your  black 
eyes  and  raven  ringlets  to  a  higlier  bidder.  You 
jilted  me  in  cold  blood,  poor  love-sick  devil  tliiit 
I  was,  and  reigned  resplendent  as  my  Lady 
Thetford.  Ahl  you  knew  liow  to  choose  tlie 
better  part,  my  pnHty  Ada!" 

"  Captain  Everard,  I  am  sorry  for  tho  past — I 
have  atoned,  if  suffering  can  atone.  Have  a 
litth)  pity,  and  let  me  alotiei" 

lie  stood  and  looke<i  at  her  silently,  gravely. 
Then  said,  in  a  voieo  deep  and  calm: 

"  We  are  both  frcel  Will  you  marry  me  now, 
Ada!" 

"I  cannot!" 

"  But  I  love  you — I  have  always  loved  you. 
And  you— I  used  to  think  you  loved  me!" 

Ho  was  strangely  calm  and  passionless,  voice 
and  glance,  and  face.  But  Lady  Thetford  had 
covered  her  face,  and  was  sobbing. 

"I  did — I  do — I  always  havel  But  I  cannot 
marry  you.  1  will  love  you  all  my  life;  but 
don't,  dov't  ask  me  to  be  your  wife!" 

"As  you  please!"  he  said,  in  the  same  pas- 
sionless voice.  "I  think  it  is  best  myself;  for 
the  George  Everard  of  to-day  is  not  the  George 
Everard  who  loved  you  eight  years  ago.  We 
would  not  be  happy — I  know  that.  Ada,  Is  that 
your  son  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  I  should  like  to  look  at  him.  Here,  my  lit- 
tle baronetl    I  want  to  see  you." 

The  boy,  who  had  been  looking  curiously  at 
the  stranger,  ran  up  at  a  sign  from  his  mother. 
TUe  tall  captain  li.ted  iiim  in  his  arms  and  gazed 
in  his  small,  thin  face,  with  which  his  bright 
tartan  plaid  contrasted  harshly. 

"Uo  hasn't  a  look  of  the  Thetfords.  He  Is 
your  own  son,  Ada.  My  little  baronet,  what  is 
your  name?" 

"  Sir  Rupert  Thetford,"  answered  tue  child, 
struggling  to  get  free.  "Let  mo  go — I  d(m't 
know  you!" 

The  captain  set  him  down  with  a  grim  smile; 
and  tho  boy  clung  to  his  mother's  skirts,  and 
eyed  the  tall  stranger  askance. 

"  I  want  to  go  home,  mammal  I'm  tired  and 
iiungrj-." 

"  Presently,  dearest.  Run  to  WilUam,  ho  has 
cakes  for  you.  Captain  Everard,  I  shall  be 
happy  to  have  you  at  dinner." 

"Thanks;  but  I  must  dt^cllne.  I  go  back  to 
London  to-niglit.  X  sail  for  India  again  in  a 
week." 

"  So  soon!    I  thought  you  meant  to  remain." 

"  Nothing  is  further  from  my  intentions.  I 
merely  brought  my  little  girl  over  to  provide 
her  a  home;  timt  is  why  I  have  troubled  you. 
Will  vou  do  me  this  kindness,  Ijuly  Thetford?" 

"  "fake  your  littlo  girl  ?  Oh,  most  gladly- 
most  willingly!" 

"Thanks!  Her  mother's  people  are  French, 
and  I  know  littlo  about  them;  and,  save  your- 
self, I  can  claim  friendship  with  few  in  England. 
She  will  be  poor;  I  have  settled  on  her  all  1  am 
worth — some  three  hundred  a  year;  and  you, 
Lady  Thetford,  you  can  teach  her,  when  she 
grewB  up,  to  catch  a  rich  hueband," 


She  took  no  notice  of  the  tuunt;  sh-  hxjked 
only  too  happy  to  render  him  tliis  .servi.e. 

"I  am  so  pleased!  She  will  be  sm  !i  a  nice 
companion  for  Rupert.     How  old  ia  she  ?" 

"  Nearly  four." 

"Is  she  here?" 

"  No;  she  is  in  London.  I  will  fetch  her  down 
in  a  clay  or  two." 

"  What  do  you  call  her?" 

"  .Matiel — niter  her  inofher.  Then  it  is  set- 
tled, Lady  Thetford,  I  am  to  fetch  her?" 

"1  sliall  tie  delighted!  Hut  won't  you  dine 
with  me?" 

"  No.  I  must  catch  tlie  evening  train.  Fare- 
well, Lady  TluMford,  and  many  thanks!  In 
tlireo  days  I  will  be  hero  again." 

He  lifted  his  hut  and  walked  away.  Lady 
'I'lietford  watched  him  ou',  of  sight,  and  then 
turned  slowly,  as  she  heard  her  little  txiy  calling 
her  with  shrill  impatience.  Tho  red  suiiset  had 
faded  out;  tho  sea  lay  gray  and  cold  under  the 
twilight  sky,  and  the  evening  breeze  was  chill. 
Changes  in  sky  and  sea  and  land  told  of  com- 
ing nigiit;  and  Lady  Thetford,  shivering  slightly 
in  tho  rising  wind,  hurried  away  to  be  driven 
home.  

CHAI'TEK  III. 

"  LITTLB  MAT." 

Ov  the  evening  of  the  third  day  after  this  In- 
terview, a  fiy  from  tho  railway  ilrove  up  the 
long,  winding  avenue  leading  to  the  great  front 
entrance  of  the  Thetford  mansion.  A  lironzed 
.nilitary  gentlenun,  a  nurse  and  a  littlo  girl, 
oeeu  lied  tho  fly,  and  the  gentleman's  keen, 
dark  eyes  wandered  seareliiii;,'ly  uroiind.  Swell- 
ing meadows,  velvety  lawns,  sloping  terraces, 
waving  trees,  britrht  flower-gardens,  quaint  old 
fish-ponds,  sparkling  fountains,  and  a  wooded 
Iiark,  with  spngiitly  deer— that  was  what  he 
saw,  all  iiathed  in  the  golden  halo  of  the  sum- 
mer sunset.  Ma.'-sivo  and  grand,  tlio  old  house 
reared  its  gray  head,  half  overgrown  with  ivy 
and  eiimbiiig  roses,  (iandy  jieacocka  sinitted 
on  the  terraces;  a  graceful  gazelle  flitted  out 
for  an  instant  amongst  tho  trees  to  look  at  them 
and  then  fled  in  ulTrighV;  and  the  barking  of 
half  a  dozen  mastiffs  greeted  tlicir  approach 
noisily, 

".V  lino  old  place,"  thought  Captain  Ev- 
erard. "  My  pretty  Ada  might  have  done  worse. 
A  grand  old  place  for  tliat  puny  child  to  inherit. 
The  staunch  old  warrior-blood  of  tho  Tlietforda 
is  sadly  adulterated  in  his  jiule  veins,  I  fancy. 
Well,  my  liltli!  May,  and  how  are  you  going  to 
hko  ail  this?" 

Tho  child,  a  bright-faced  littlo  creature,  with 
great  sparkling  eyes  and  rose-liloom  cheeks,  waa 
looking  In  delight  at  a  distant  terrace, 

"  Sec,  papal  See  all  tho  pretty  iM'ueocksl 
Look,  Ellen,"  to  tho  nurse,  "  three,  four,  flvol 
Oh,  how  pretty  I" 

''  Then  little  May  will  like  to  live  here,  where 
she  can  see  the  pretty  peacocks  every  day  ?  " 

"And  all  the  pretty  flowers,  and  the  water, 
and  the  littlo  boy — whore's  tho  little  boy,  papa? '' 

"  In  the  housf; — you'll  see  him  presently;  but 
you  must  be  very  good,  littlo  May,  and  not  pull 
his  nair.  and  scratch  his  face,  and  pt^ke  your 
fingers  in  his  eyes,  like  you  used  to  do  with 
Willie  Brandon.  Little  May  must  learn  to  be 
good." 

Little  May  put  ono  rosy  finger  in  her  month, 
and  set  her  head  on  ono  side  like  a  defiant 
canary.  She  was  ono  of  the  prettiest  little 
fairies  Imaginable,  with  her  pale,  flaxen  curls, 
and  sparkling  liu'lit-gray  eyes,  and  apple-blossom 
complexion;  but  she  was  evidently  as  much 
spoiled  as  little  Sir  Rupert  Thetford  himself. 

Lady  Thetford  sat  in  tho  long  drawing-room, 
after  her  solitary  dinner,  and  littlo  Sir  Rupert 
played  with  his  rocking-horso  and  a  pile  of 
picture-books  in  a  rcmot"  comer.  The  young 
widow  lay  back  in  the  \noiet-velvct  depths  of  a 
carved  and  gilded  fautcuil,  very  simply  dressed 
in  black  and  crimson,  but  looking  very  fair  and 
stately  withal  She  was  watching  her  boy  with 
a  halt  Kinilo  on  her  face,  when  a  footman  entered 
«ntli  Captain  Everard's  card.  >.ady  Thetford 
looked  up  eagerly. 

"  Show  Captain  Ev.irard  up  at  once." 

The  footman  bowed  and  disapiiearol.  Five 
minutes  later,  and  tho  tall  captain  and  his  little 
daughter  stood  before  her. 

"  At  last!"  said  Lady  Tiietford,  rising  and 
holding  out  her  hand  to  her  old  lover,  with  a 
smilo  that  reminded  him  of  other  days — "rt; 
last,  wheu  I  was  growing  tired  waiting.  And 
this  iti  your  little  girl— m{r  Uttle  girl  from  hence-, 
forth  ?  Come  here,  my  pet,  and  kiss  yoor  new 
mamma." 


4 


SIR    NOELS    HEIR. 


She  bent  over  the  little  one,  kissing  the  pink 
ohecks  and  rosy  lips. 

"  She  is  fair  and  tiny— a  very  fairy;  but  she 
reBembUo  you,  nevortholess,  Capt.  Everard." 

"In  temper — yes  "  said  the  captain.  "You 
will  find  her  spoiled,  and  willful,  and  cross,  ami 
'.apricious  and  no  end  of  trouble.  Won't  she, 
May?" 

"  She  will  be  the  better  match  for  Rupert  on 
that  accoBnt,"  Lady  Thettord  said,  smiling,  and 
unfaatenini?  little  Miss  Everard's  wraps  witli 
her  own  fair  tlnf<er?.  "  Come  here,  Kupert,  and 
welcome  your  new  siste-." 

The  youni}  baronet  approached,  and  dutifully 
kiised  little  May,  who  put  up  her  losc-bud 
mouth  right  willingly.  Sir  Rupert  Thetford 
Trasu't  tall,  rather  uiidi^rsized,  and  delicate  for 
Us  seven  years;  but  lie  was  head  and  shoulders 
over  the  flaxen-haired  fairy,  wth  the  bright 
gray  eyes. 

"I  want  a  ride  on  your  rocking-horse," 
aried  litt'e  May,  fraternizing  with  him  at  once; 
"  and  ohi  what  nice  picture  books  and  what  a 
loti" 

The  children  ran  ofT  together  to  their  distant 
corner,  and  Captain  Everard  sat  down  for  the 
first  time. 
"You  have  not  diuiid?"  said  Lady  Thetford, 

"  Allow  me  to "  li^r  hand  was  on  the  bell, 

but  tfle  captain  interposed. 

"  Many  thanks— notiiiug.  We  dined  at  the 
Tillage;  and  I  leave  again  by  tlie  seven-fltty 
train.  It  is  past  seven  now,  so  I  have  but  little 
time  to  spare.  I  fear  I  am  pu'Ung  you  to  a 
great  deal  of  trouble;  but  May's  nurse  L'-sista 
oa  being  taken  back  to  London  to-night." 

"It  vfir  be  of  no  con.sequence,"  replied  Lady 
Thetford,  "  Rupert's  nurse  will  take  charge  of 
her.  I  intend  to  advertise  tor  a  nursery  gov- 
erness in  a  few  days.  Rupert's  health  has 
always  beer,  so  extremely  delicate,  that  ho  has 
not  even  began  a  pri*er.t  of  learning  yet,  and 
It  Is  quite  time.  lie  grows  stronger,  I  fancy; 
but  Dr.  (tale  tells  me  frankly  his  constitution  is 
tlauger<jusly  weak." 

She  sighed  as  she  spoke,  and  looked  over  to 
where  he  stood  beside  little  Mny,  who  had 
mounted  the  rookinit-horse  boy-fashioa  Sir 
Rupert  WilB  expostulating. 

'•  You  oughtn't  to  sit  that  way — ask  mamma. 
You  ought  to  sit  side-saddle,  duly  boys  sit  like 
that." 

"  I  don't  carel"  retorted  Miss  Everard,  rook- 
tog  ratwe  violently  than  ever.  "I'll  sit  what- 
ever way  I  likel    Let  me  alone!" 

Lady  Thetford  looked  at  the  captain  with  a 
nnile. 

"Her  father's  daughter,  surely!  bent  on 
•aving  her  own  way.  What  a  fairy  It  isl  and 
yet  such  a  perfect  picture  of  health." 

"  .'tfabel  was  never  iU  an  tiour  in  her  lite,  I 
believe,"  said  her  father;  "  she  is  not  at  all  too 
good  for  this  world.  I  only  hope  she  may  not 
grow  up  the  torment  of  your  life— «he  is  thor- 
oaghly  spoiled." 

"  And  I  fear  if  she  were  not,  I  should  do  ik 
Ahl  I  expect  she  will  be  a  great  comfort  to  me, 
and  a  world  of  good  to  Rupert.  He  has  never 
had  a  playmate  of  his  own  years,  and  children 
need  children  as  much  as  they  need  sunshine." 
They  sat  for  ten  minutes  conversing  gravely, 
chiefly  on  business  matters  connected  with  little 
May's  annuity—not  at  all  as  they  had  conversed 
Uiree  d^s  before  by  the  sea-side.  Then,  as 
half-past  seven  drew  near,  the  captain  arose. 

"  I  must  go;  I  will  hardly  be  in  time  as  It  Is. 
Come  here,  Uttle  May,  and  bid  papa  good-bye." 
"Let  papa   come   to  May,"   responded  his 
daughter,  still  rooking.    "  I  can't  get  oft." 

Captain  Everard  laughed,  Went  over,  bent 
down  and  kiss(>d  her. 

"  Qood-bye,  May;  don't  forget  papa,  andleara 
to  be  a  good  girl.  Gh)od-bye,  baronet^try  and 
grow  strong  and  tall.  Farewell,  Lady  Thettord, 
with  my  best  thunks." 

"h"  held  his  hand,  looking  up  In  bis  sun- 
burned face  with  tears  in  her  dark  eyes. 

"  We  may  .never  meet  again.  Captain  Ever- 
ard," she  said  hurriedly.  "Tell  me  before  we 
part  that  you  forgive  me  the  past." 

"Truly,  Ada,  and  for  the  first  time.  The 
service  you  have  rendered  mo  fully  atones. 
You  should  have  been  my  child's  mother— be  a 
mother  to  her  now.  Qood-bye,  and  God  bless 
you  and  your  boyl" 

Hi  stooped  over,  touched  her  cheek  with  his 
nps  reverentially,  and  then  was  gone.  Gone 
forBver— never  to  meet  those  he  left  behind  this 
Bide  of  eternity. 

Little  May  bore  the  loss  of  papa  and  nurse 
with  philosophical  indifference — her  new  play- 
vate  BOfflced  for  both.    The  efaUdren  took  to 


one  another  with  the  readiness  of  childhood— 
Ruiwrt  all  the  mere  readily  that  he  liad  never 
before  hati  u  playmate  of  his  own  years.  He 
was  naturally  a  quiet  child,  caring  more  for  his 
picture-books  and  his  nurse's  stories  than  for 
tops,  or  bails,  or  marbles.  But  little  May  Ever- 
ard seemed  from  the  lirst  to  inspire  liiin  with 
some  of  her  own  superabundant  vitality  and 
life.  The  clii.l  was  never,  for  a  single  instant, 
quiet;  she  was  the  most  restless,  the  most  im- 
petuoas,  the  most  vigorous  little  creature  that 
can  be  conceived.  Keet  and  tongue  and  hands 
never  were  still  from  morning  till  night;  and 
tlie  life  of  Sir  Rupert's  nurse,  hitherto  one  of 
idle  ease,  became  all  al  once  a  misery  to  her. 
The  little  girl  was  every  where— everywhere; 
especially  wiiere  she  hail  no  business  to  be;  and 
nurse  ne\  er  knew  an  easy  moment  for  trotting 
after  her,  and  rescuing  her  from  all  sorts  of 
perils,  ohii  could  climb  like  a  eat,  or  a  goat, 
and  risked  her  neck  about  twenty  times  per 
diem;  sLo  sa.ied  he-  shoes  in  the  soup  when  let 
in  as  a  treat  ,0  dinner,  and  washed  her  hands 
in  her  milk-and-water.  She  became  the  inti- 
mate friend  of  ;he  prttty  peacocks  and  the  big, 
good-tempered  clogs,  with  whom,  In  utter  fear- 
lessness, she  roll  d  abcjut  in  the  grass  half  the 
day.  She  broke  .voting  Rupert's  toys,  and. tore 
his  picture-books  and  slapped  his  face,  and 
pulled  his  hair,  an»,'  made  herself  master  of  the 
situation  before  she  had  been  twenty-four  hours 
in  the  house.  She  was  thoroughly  and  com- 
pletely spoiled.  Whit  India  nurses  had  left 
undone,  injadiolous  p.  tting  and  flattery  on  the 
homeward  passage  h^d  completed — and  her 
temper  was  somjthinsf '  appalling.  Her  shrieks 
of  pasiiion  at  the  sUghtest  contradiction  of  her 
imperial  will  rang  through  the  house,  and  rent 
the  tortured  tympanums  of  all  who  heard.  The 
little  Xaiitippo  would  fling  herself  flat  on  the 
carpet,  and  literally  scream  herself  black  in  the 
face,  until,  in  dread  of  apoplexy  and  sudden 
death,  her  frightened  hearers  nastened  to  yield. 
Of  course,  one  such  victor/  Insured  all  the  rest. 
As  for  Sir  Rupert,  before  she  had  been  a  week 
at  Thetford  Towers,  he  dared  cot  call  his  soul 
his  own.  She  had  partially  scalped  him  on 
several  ooca.'sions.  and  left  the  mark  of  her  cat- 
like nails  in  hia  tender  visagi  but  her  venom- 
ous power  of  screeching  for  uours  at  wiU  had 
more  to  do  with  the  little  baronet's  dread  of 
her  than  anything  else.  He  fled  Ingloriously 
in  every  battle — ^running  In  tears  to  mamma, 
and  leaving  the  field  and  the  trophies  of  vic- 
tory triumphantly  to  Miss  '^Everard.  With  all 
this,  when  not  thwarted— when  allowed  to 
smash  toys,  and  dirty  her  clothes,  and  smear 
her  infantile  face,  and  tear  pictures,  and  tor- 
ment inoffensive  'lapdogs;  when  allowed,  in 
short,  to  follow  "her  o\vn  sweet  will."  little 
May  was  as  aa  charming  a  fairy  as  ever  the  sun 
shone  on.  Her  gleeful  laugh  made  music  In  the 
dreary  old  rooms,  such  as  had  never  been  heard 
there  for  many  a  day,  and  her  mischievous 
antics  were  the  delight  of  all  who  did  not  suffer 
thereby.  The  servants  petted  and  indulged  her, 
and  fed  her  on  unwholesome  cakes  and  sweet- 
meats, and  made  her  worse  and  worse  every  day 
of  her  life.  ^ 

Lady  Thetford  saw  all  this  with  Inward  ap- 
prehension. If  her  ward  was  completely  be- 
yond her  powei  of  control  at  four,  what  wordd 
she  be  a  dozen  years  hence  f 

"Her  father  was  right,"  thought  the  lady. 
"  I  am  afraid  she  iciU  give  me  a  great  deal  of 
trouble.  I  never  saw  so  headstrong,  bo  utterly 
unmanageable  a  child." 

But  Liuly  Thetford  was  very  fond  of  the  fairy 
despot  withal.  When  her  son  came  running  to 
her  for  succor,  drowned  In  tears,  his  mother  took 
him  in  her  arms  and  kissed  him  and  soothed 
him— but  she  never  punished  the  offender.  As 
for  Sh:  Rupert,  he  might  fly  IgnominiouBly,  but 
he  never  fought  back.  Little  May  had  all  the 
haip-pulllng  and  faee^ecratchlng  to  herself. 

"  I  must  get  a  governess,"  mused  Lady  Thet- 
ford. "  I  may  find  one  who  can  control  th'.e 
little  vixen:  and  it  is  really  time  Rupert  be^an 
his  studies.  I  shall  speak  to  Mr.  Knight  about  it." 

Lf  iy  Thetford  sent  that  very  day  to  the  rec- 
tory her  ladyship's  compliments,  the  servant 
said,  md  would  Mr.  Knight  call  at  his  earliest 
convi  lionce.  Mr.  Knight  sent  in  atswer  to 
expect  him  that  same  evening;  and  on  his  way 
he  fell  in  with  Dr.  Gale,  going  to  the  manor- 
house  on  a  professional  visit. 

"Little  Sir  Rupert  keeps  weakly,"  he  said; 
"  no  constitution  to  speak  of.  Not  at  all  like 
the  Thetford*— splendid  old  stock,  the  Thet- 
fords,  but  ran  out — nm  out.  Sir  Rupert  Is  a 
Vandeleur,  inherits  hia  mother's  oonstitation — 
delicate  child,  very." 


"  Have  you  seen  Lady  Thetford's  ward  I"  In- 
quired the  clergyman,  smiling;  no  hereditary 
weakness  there,  1  fancy.  I'U  answer  for  the 
strength  of  her  lungs,  at  any  rate.  The  other 
day  she  wanted  Lady  Thetford's  watch  for  a 
plaything;  she  couldn't  have  it,  and  down  she 
fell  flat  on  the  floor  in  what  her  nnisc  ealla 
'  one  of  her  tantrums.'  You  should  have  heard 
her,  her  shrieks  were  appalling." 

"I  have,"  said  the  doctor,  with  emphasis; 
"  she  has  the  temper  of  the  old  demon.  If  I 
had  anything  to  do  w  th  that  child,  I  shouW 
whip  her  within  an  inch  of  her  life— that's  aO 
she  wants,  lots  of  whippuigl  The  Lord  only 
knows  the  future,  but  1  pity  her  pro8p<ctiv« 
husbandl" 

"  The  taming  of  the  shrew,"  laughed  Mr. 
Knight.  "  Katherine  ami  Petruchio  over  again! 
VdT  my  part,  I  think  Lady  Thetford  was  unwise 
to  undertake  such  a  charge.  With  her  deUcata 
health  it  is  altogether  too  much  for  her." 

The  two  gentlemen  were  shown  into  the 
library,  whilst  the  servant  went  to  Inform  bla 
lady  of  their  arrival.  The  library  had  a  French 
window  opening  on  a  sloping  lawn,  and  here, 
chasing  butterflies  in  high  glee,  were  the  two 
children^the  pule,  dark-eyed  baronet,  and  tha 
flaxen-tressed  little  East  Indian. 

"  Look,"  said  Dr.  Gale.  "  Is  Sir  Rnpert  going 
to  be  your  Petruchio  V  Who  knows  what  tha 
future  may  bring  forth— who  knows  that  we  do 
not  behold  a  fuliu-e  Lady  Thetford  ?" 

"  She  is  very  pretty,"  said  the  rector  thouefa^ 
fully,  "and  she  may  change  with  years,  '^nr 
prophecy  may  be  fulfilled." 

The  present  Lady  Thetford  entered  ae  he 
spoke.  She  had  heard  the  remarks  of  both, 
and  there  was  an  unusual  pallor  and  gravity  in 
her  face  as  she  advanced  to  receive  them. 

Little  Sir  Rupert  was  called  in,  and  May  fol- 
lowed, with  a  butterfly  crushed  to  death  in  each 
fat  little  hand. 

"  She  kills  them  as  fast  as  she  catches  thim," 
said  Sir  Rupert,  ruefully.  "It's  cruel,  isn  t  it, 
mamma?" 

Little  May,  quite  unabashed,  displayed  her 
dead  prizes,  and  cut  short  the  doctor's  confer 
en(!e  by  impatiently  puUingherplay-fellow  away. 

"  Come,  Rupert,  come,"  she  cried.  "  I  want 
to  catch  the  black  one  with  the  yellow  wings. 
Stick  yomftpngue  out  and  come.'' 

Sir  Rupert  displayed  his  tongue,  and  sub- 
mitted his  pulse  to  the  doctor,  and  let  himself 
be  pulled  sBvay  by  May. 

"The  gray  mare  In  that  span  is  decidedly  the 
better  horse,"  laughed  the  doctor.  "What  a 
little  despot  in  pinafores  it  is." 

When  iicr  visitors  had  left.  Lady  Thetford 
walked  to  the  window  and  stood  watching  ttaf 
tfvo  children  racing  in  the  sunshine.  It  was  t 
pretty  sight,  but  the  lady's  face  was  contiaoted 
with  pain. 

"  No,  no,"  she  thought.  "  I  hope  not — I  pray 
not.  Strangel  but  I  never  thought  of  the  pofr 
sibillty  before.  She  will  be  poor,  and  Bupect 
must  marry  a  rich  wife,  so  that  If—" 

She  paused,  with  a  sort  of  shudder,  then  added: 

"  What  will  he  think,  my  darling  boy,  of  hii 
father  and  mother  if  that  day  ever  oomee  f " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

XBS.   WBTUOBE. 

Last  Thbtfobu  had  settled  her  busineeB 
satisfactorily  wi'.n  the  rector  of  St.  Gosport. 

"  Nothing  codld  be  more  opportune,"  he  said. 
"  I  am  goinp  to  London  next  week  on  bnsineBs, 
which  will  detain  me  upward  of  a  fortnight.  I 
WiU  immediately  advertise  for  such  a  person  as 
you  want." 

"  Yoa  must  understand,"  said  her  ladyship^ 
"  I  do  n  jt  require  a  young  girL  I  wish  a  mid- 
dle-aged person — a  widow,  for  Instance,  who 
has  bad  children  of  her  own.  Both  Rupert  and 
May  are  spoiled— May  particularly  Is  perfectly 
uiiroanagcable.  A  young  girl  as  governess  tot 
■fler  would  never  do.'' 

Mr.  Knight  departed  with  these  instmctlonfl. 
and  the  following  week  started  for  the  great 
metropolis.  An  advertisement  was  at  once  In- 
serted in  the  Times  newspaper,  stattag  all  Lady 
Thetford's  requirements,  and  desiring  immer 
dlate  application.  Another  week  later,  and 
Lady  Thetford  received  the  following  ooinma> 
nlcatlon: 

"  Oeab  Ladt  TH»rroRD — I  have  beea  fairly  be* 
sieged  with  applicants  for  the  past  week— all  wid. 
ows,  and  all  professing  to  be  thoroughly  com- 
petent. Clergymen's  widows,  doctors'^  widows, 
ofttoeiB'  widows— all  sorts  of  widows.  I  never  be 
fore  thought  so  many  eould  apply  for  one  dtqcitiaa. 
I  have  chosen  one  in  sheer  desperstton— the  wldi 
ow  of  a  ooontry  genUemanln  dliMmonod  oiit)an» 


SIR    NOEL'S    HEIR. 


O 


|ward  I"  In. 

i  hereditary 
ffer  for  the 
.  The  other 
hatch  tor  a 
fi  dowu  she 
J  nurse  calk 
I  have  heard 

m  eoiphaals: 
^■mon.  If  I 
Ml  I  Hhould 
p— that's  aD 
J  Lord  ouly 
■  prohiMctive 

fughid  Mr. 

f  over  BKainl 

Iwaa  unwise 

iicr  delicata 

her." 

Id   Into   the 

inform  hla 

Jttd  a  J'rinch 

I,  and  here, 

pre  the  two 

net,  and  the 


/ 


Manoes,  who,  I  tbink,  will  ritt.  She  is  eminently 
ie«p«ctable  In  appearance,  quiet  and  ltidy-lil(»  in 
manner,  with  five  years'  experience  tn  thenursery- 

govenieM  ilne,  and  the  lughest  recciinmendatlon 
^^m  her  late  ompioyers.  She  has  limt  a  oliUiI,  she 
tellH  me,  and  from  her  looics  and  mannttr  alto- 
gether, I  should  Judge  she  was  a  person  uon- 
Tt^rsant  with  misfortune.  She  will  return  with  me 
•arly  next  week— her  name  is  Mrs.  Weymore." 

Lady  Thetlord  read  this  letter  with  a  little 
tlgb  of  relief — some  one  else  would  have  the 
temper  and  outbreaks  of  little  .May  to  contend 
with  now.  She  wrote  to  Captain  Everard  that 
lame  day,  to  announce  !■  is  "I  uugliter's  well-bein«, 
uid  inform  him  that  she  had  found  a  suitable 
joverness  to  take  ehar/j;o  of  her. 

The  second  <lay  of  tliu  ensuing  week  the  rector 
and  the  new  govenies.'j  arrived.  A  Hy  from  the 
imilway  brought  her  and  her  luggaKo  to  Thet- 
fcjrd  Towers  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  she  was 
taken  at  once  to  the  room  that  had  been  prt>- 
pared  for  her,  whilst  the  servant  went  to  inform 
LAdy  'ThetfoKl  of  her  arrival. 

"Fetch  her  here  at  once,"  said  her  ladyship, 
who  was  alone,  as  usual,  in  the  long  drawing- 
foom  with  the  children,  "  I  wish  to  see  her." 

■Ten  niini'.tes  after  tlio  drawing-room  door  was 
9nni?  open,  and  "  Mrs.  Weymore,  my  lady," 
Uinounced  the  footman. 

Lady  Thetford  arose  to  receive  her  new  de- 
pendent, who  bowed  and  stood  before  her  with 
t  somewhat  fluttered  and  embarrassed  air.  She 
Tas  <iuite  young,  not  older  than  my  lady  her- 
lelf,  and  eminently  good-looking.  The  tall, 
•lender  figure,  clad  in  widow's  weeds,  was  as 
lymmetrical  as  Lady  Thetford's  own,  and  the 
lull  black  dress  set  off  tlie  pearly  fairness  of 
the  blonde  skin,  and  the  rich  abundance  of 
:«lr  hair.  Lady  Thetford's  brows  contracted  a 
little;  aer  fair,  subdued,  gentle-looking,  girlish 
young  womiin,  was  hardly  the  strong-minded, 
mJddle-aged  matron  she  had  cxpe<'ted  to  take 
the  nonsense  out  of  obstreperous  May  Everard. 

"  Mrs.  Weymore,  I  l)elieve,"  said  Lady  Thet- 
!ord,  resuming  huT  fauleuil,  "  pray  be  seated.  I 
wished  to  sec  you  at  once,  because  I  am  going 
3Ut  this  evening.  You  have  had  five  years'  ex- 
perieuoe  as  a  nursery-governess,  Mr.  Knight 
Ijella  me." 

"Yes,  my  lady." 

Tliore  was  a  litt'e  tremor  In  Mrs.  Weymore's 
low  voice,  and  h<ir  blue  eyes  shifted  and  fell 
under  Lady  Thetford's  steady  and  somewhat 
tmniility  gaze. 

"  Yet  you  look  young— much  younger  than  I 
.ma-'iiie<l,  or  wished." 

"  1  am  twenty-seven  years  old,  my  lady." 

That  was  my  lady's  own  age  precisely,  but 
ihe  looked  half  a  dozen  years  the  elder  or  the 
:wo. 

"  Are  you  a  native  of  London  ?  " 

''  No,  iny  lady — of  Berkshire." 

"And  you  have  been  a  widow,  how  long? " 

What  aile4  Mrs.  Weymore  f  She  was  all 
white  and  trembling — even  her  hands,  folded 
and  pressed  together  in  her  lap,  shook  in  spite 
other. 

"  Eight  years  and  more." 

She  said  it  with  a  sort  ot  sob,  hysterically 
choked.  Lady  Thetford  looked  on  surprised, 
Kd  a  trifle  displeased.  She  was  a  very  proud 
woman,  and  certainly  wished  for  no  scene  with 
her  hired  dependents, 

"  Eight  years  is  a  tolerable  time,"  she  said, 
OooUy.    "  You  have  lost  children? '■ 

"One,  my  lady." 

Again  that  ahoked,  hysterical  sob.  My  lady 
went  on  pitilessly. 

"Is  it  Ion?  ago?" 

"  When— when  I  lost  its  father? " 

"Ahl  both  together  ?  That  was  rather  hard. 
WelL  I  hope  you  understand  the  management 
vt  children — spoiled  ones  particularly.  Here 
we  Uie  two  you  are  to  take  charge  of.  Rupert 
—May,  come  here." 

The  children  came  over  from  their  corner. 
Mrs.  Weymore  drew  May  toward  her,  but  Sir 
Bapert  held  aloof. 

"This  is  my  ward — this  is  my  son.  I  pre- 
■ame  Mr.  Knight  has  told  you.  If  you  can 
■abdue  the  temper  of  that  child,  you  will  prove 
Tourself,  Indeed,  a  treasure.  The  east  parlor 
has  been  fitted  up  for  your  use;  the  chlldien 
"Will  take  their  meals  there  witli  you:  the  room 
•djoining  is  to  be  the  school-room.  I  have  ap- 
pointed one  of  the  maids  to  wait  on  you.  I 
truBt  you  will  find  your  chamber  comfortable." 

"  Exceedingly  so,  my  lady." 

"  And  the  terms  proposed  by  Mr.  Knight  suit 
yoa?" 

Mrs.  Weymore  bowed.  Lady  Thetford  rose 
*•  close  the  interview. 

"  Tou  must  need  refreshment  and  rest  after 


your  jouriMy.    I  will  not  detain  you  longer. 
To-morrow  your  duties  will  commence." 

She  rang  the  bell — directed  the  servant  who 
came  to  show  the  governess  to  the  east  parlor 
and  see  to  her  wants^  and  then  to  send  nurse 
for  the  children.  Hften  minutes  after  she 
drove  away  in  the  pony-pliaeton,  whilst  the  new 
governess  stoo<l  by  the  window  of  the  east  pi.r- 
lor  and  watched  her  vanisli  in  the  amljer  haze 
of  the  August  sunset. 

Lady  Thetford's  business  In  St.  Gosport  de- 
tained her  a  couple  of  hours.  The  big,  white, 
August  moon  was  rising  as  she  drove  slowly 
homeward,  and  the  nightingale  sang  its  vesper  \ 
lay  in  the  scented  hedge-rows.  As  she  passed 
tlie  rectory  she  saw  Mr.  Kniglit  leaning  over  hia 
own  gate  enjoying  the  placid  beauty  of  the  sum- 
mer evening,  and  Lady  Thetford  reined  In  her 
ponies  to  speak  to  him. 

"  So  happy  to  see  your  ladyshipl  Won't  you 
alight  and  come  in  ?  Mrs.  Knight  will  be  de- 
lighted." 

"  Not  this  •  ^ning,  I  think.  Had  you  much 
trouble  about  my  busiiness  ?  " 

"  I  had  applicants  enough,  certainly,"  laughed 
the  rector.  "1  had  reason  to  remember  Mr. 
Weller's  immortal  advice,  '  Beware  o'.  widders.' 
How  do  you  like  your  governess  ? " 

"  I  have  hardly  had  time  to  form  an  opinion. 
She  is  younger  tlian  I  could  desire." 

"  She  looks  much  younger  than  the  age  she 
gives,  I  know:  but  that  is  a  common  case.  I 
trust  my  choice  will  prove  satisfactory- — her 
references  are  excellent.  Your  ladyship  has 
had  an  Interview  with  her  V  " 

"A  very  brief  one.  Her  manner  struck  me 
unpleasantly — so  odd,  and  shy,  and  nervous.  I 
hardly  know  how  to  characterize  it;  but  she 
may  he  a  paragon  of  governesses,  for  all  that. 
(i(n)d  evening;  best  regards  to  Mrs.  Knight. 
Call  soon  and  see  how  your  protege  gets  on." 

Lady  Thetford  drove  away.  As  she  alighted 
from  the  pony-carriage  and  ascended  the  gn.-at 
front  steps  of  the  house,  she  saw  the  pale  gov- 
erness still  seated  at  the  window  ot  tlie  east 
parlor,  gazing  dejectedly  out  at  the  silvery 
moonlight. 

"  A  most  woeful  countenance,"  thought  my 
lady.  "  There  is  pome  deeper  grief  then  the 
loss  of  a  husbant'  and  child  eight  years  ago, 
the  matter  with  that  woman.    I  don't  like  her." 

No,  Lady  Thetford  did  not  like  the  meek  and 
submissive  looking  govemncss,  but  the  children 
and  the  rest  of  the  household  did.  Sir  Kupert 
and  little  May  took  to  her  at  once — her  gentle 
voice,  her  tender  smile  Beeme<l  to  win  Its  way  to 
their  capricious  favor;  and  before  tha  end  of 
the  first  week  she  had  more  influence  over  them 
than  mother  and  nurse  together.  The  subdued 
and  gentle  governess  soon  had  the  love  of  all 
at  Thetford  Towers,  except  its  mistress,  from 
Mrs.  Hllliard,  the  stately  housekeeper,  do«Ti. 
She  was  courteous  and  considerate,  so  anxious 
to  avoid  giving  trouble.  Above  all,  that  fixed 
expression  of  hopeless  trouble  on  her  sad,  pale 
face,  made  its  way  to  every  heart.  She  had  full 
charge  of  the  children  now;  they  tfmk  their 
meals  with  her,  and  she  had  them  in  her  keeping 
the  best  part  ot  the  day— an  office  that  was  no 
sinecure.  When  they  were  with  their  nurse,  or 
my  lady,  the  governess  sat  alone  in  the  east  par- 
lor, looking  out  dreamily  at  the  summer  land- 
scape, with  her  own  brooding  thoughts. 

One  evening  when  she  had  been  at  Thetford 
Towers  over  a  fortnight,  Mrs.  Hllliard,  coming 
in,  found  her  sitting  dreamily  by  herself,  neith- 
er reading  nor  working.  The  children  were  In 
the  drawing-room,  and  her  duties  were  over  for 
the  day. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  don't  make  yourself  at  home 
here,"  said  the  good-natured  housekeeper;  "you 
stay  too  much  alone,  and  it  Isn't  good  foryoung 
people  like  you." 

"  I  am  u.sed  to  solitude,"  replied  the  gover- 
ness with  a  smile,  that  ended  in  a  sigh,  "  and  I 
have  grown  to  like  It.    WiU  you  take  a  seat? " 

"  No,"  arid  Mrs.  Hllliard.  "  I  heard  you  say 
the  other  day  you  would  like  to  go  over  the 
house;  so,  as  I  have  a  couple  of  hours'  leisure,  I 
will  show  It  to  you  now." 

The  governess  rose  eagerly. 

"  I  have  been  wanting  to  see  It  so  much,"  she 
said,  "  but  I  feared  to  give  trouble  by  asking. 
It  is  very  good  of  you  to  think  of  me,  dear  Jlrs. 
Hilliard." 

"  She  isn't  much  usetl  to  people  thinking  of 
her,"  reflected  the  housekeeper,  "or  she 
wouldn't  be  so  grateful  for  trifles.  Let  me  see," 
aloud,  "you  have  seen  the  drawing-room  and 
library,  and  that  Is  all,  except  your  own  apart- 
ments. Well,  come  this  way,  I'll  show  you  the 
old  south  winf." 


Through  the  long  corridors,  up  wide,  black, 
slippery  stair-eases,  into  vast,  unused  rooms, 
where  ghostly  echo»'ji  and  darkness  had  it  all  to 
themselves,  Mrs.  Hllliard  led  the  governess. 

"These  apartments  have  been  unu.sed  since 
before  the  late  Sir  Noel's  time,"  said  Mr.;.  Hll- 
liard; "  his  father  kept  them  full  in  the  hi':iting 
season,  and  at  Christmas  time.  Since  Sir  Noel's 
death,  my  lady  has  shut  herself  up  and  received 
no  company,  and  gone  nowhere.  She  is  beglr:- 
ning  to  go  out  more  of  lat<;  than  she  has  done 
ever  since  his  death." 

Mrs.  Hilliard  was  not  looking  at  the  gover- 
ness, or  she  might  have  been  surprised  at  the 
nervous  restlessness  and  agitation  of  her  man- 
ner, as  she  listened  to  these  very  commonplace 
remarks. 

"  Lady  Thetford  was  very  much  attached  to 
her  husband,  then?"  Mrs.  Wej-more  said,  her 
voice  tremulous. 

"Ahl  that  she  wasl  .She  must  have  been, 
for  his  death  nearly  killed  her.  It  was  sudden 
enough,  and  shocking  encjugh,  goodnc-is  knowsl 
I  shall  never  f'irget  tliat  dreadful  night.  This  la 
the  old  banqueting-hall,  Mrs.  Weymore,  the 
largest  and  dreariest  room  in  the  house." 

Mrs.  Weymore,  trembUng  very  much,  either 
with  cold  or  that  unaccountable  nervousness  of 
hers,  hardly  lo<jked  round  at  the  vast  wilderness 
of  a  room. 

"  You  were  with  the  late  Sir  Noel,  then,  when 
he  died?" 

"  Yes,  until  my  lady  came.  Ahl  :t  was  a 
dreadful  thing!  He  had  taken  her  to  a  ball,  and 
riding  home  tis  horse  threw  him.  Wo  sent  for 
the  doctor  and  my  lady  at  once;  and  when  ihe 
came,  all  white  and  scared  like,  he  sent  a<f  out 
of  the  room.  He  was  as  calm  and  sensible  as 
you  or  me,  but  he  seemed  to  have  something  on 
his  mind.  My  lady  was  shut  up  with  him  for 
about  three  hours,  and  then  we  went  in— Dr. 
fiale  and  me.  I  shall  never  forget  that  sad  sight. 
Poor  Sir  Noel  was  dead,  and  she  was  kneeling 
beside  him  in  her  ball  dress,  like  somebody 
tume<l  to  stone.  I  spoke  to  her,  and  she  looked 
up  at  me,  and  then  fell  back  in  my  arms  In  a 
fainting  fit.  Are  you  cold,  Mrs.  Weymore,  that 
you  sh^e  so?" 

"  No — yes — it  is  this  desolate  room,  I  think," 
the  governess  answered,  hardly  able  to  speak. 

"It  v»  desolate.  Come,  I'll  show  you  the  bll 
Hard-room,  and  then  we'll  go  up-stau^  to  the 
room  Sir  N  oel  died  in .  Everything  remains  just 
as  it  was — no  one  has  ever  slept  there  since.  If 
you  only  knew,  Mrs.  Weymore,  what  a  sad  time 
it  was;  but  you  do  know,  poor  dearl  you  have 
lost  a  husband  yourself! " 

The  governess  flung  up  her  hands  before  her 
face  with  a  suppressed  cry  so  full  of  anguish 
that  the  housekeeper  stared  at  her  aghast. 
Almost  as  quickly  she  recovered  herself  again. 

"Don't  mind  me,"  she  said,  in  a  choking 
voice,  "  I  can't  help  it.  You  don't  know  what 
I  ."uffered- what  I  still  suffer.  Oh,  pray,  don't 
mind  me!" 

"  Certainly  not,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  HiUiard, 
thinking  inwardly  the  governess  was  a  very  odd 
fierson,  indeed. 

They  looked  at  the  billlard-roo!n,  where  tbe 
tables  stood,  dusty  and  disused,  and  the  balls  lay 
idiv  by. 

"I  don't  know  when  it  will  be  used  again," 
said  Mrs.  Hilliard;  "  jierhaps  not  until  Sir  Rupert 
grows  up.  There  was  a  time,"  lowering  her 
voice,  "that  I  thought  he  would  never  !ive  to  be 
as  old  and  strong  as  he  is  now.  He  was  the 
puniest  babv,  Mrs.  Weymore,  you  ever  looked 
at — nobody  thouglit  he  would  live.  And  that 
would  have  been  a  pity,  you  know;  for  then  the 
Thetford  estate  would  have  gone  to  a  distant 
branch  of  the  family,  as  it  would,  too,  if  Sir 
Rupert  had  been  a  little  girl." 

Sne  went  on  up-stairs  to  the  inhabited  part  of 
the  building,  followed  by  Mrs.  Weymore,  who 
6eeme<J  to  grow  more  and  more  agitated  with 
every  word  the  housekeeper  said. 

"  Thu>  is  Sir  Noel's  room,"  said  Mrs.  Hilliard, 
in  an  awe-struck  whisper,  as  It  the  dead  man 
still  lay  there;  "  no  one  ever  enters  here  but 
me." 

She  unlocked  It  as  she  spoke,  and  went  in. 
Mrs.  Weymore  followed, with  a  face  of  frightened 
pallor  that  struck  even  the  housekeeper. 

"  Good  gracious  me!  Mrs.  Weymore,  what  Is 
the  matter?  You  are  as  pale  as  a  ghost.  Are 
vou  ofraid  to  enter  a  room  where  a  person  haa 
died?" 

Mrs.  Weymore's  reply  was  almost  iuaudihiei 
she  stood  on  the  threshold,  pallid,  trembling,  tin' 
aooonntably  moved.  The  housekeeper  gtanoed 
at  her  Busplclously. 

"Very  odd,"  she  thought,  "very!    The  D01) 


SIR    NOEL'S    HEIR. 


govemoss  Is  eithrr  the  most  nerroun  person  I 
ever  met,  or  else — no,  she  can't  Lave  known  Sir 
Noel  in  his  lifetime.    Of  course  not. " 

They  left  the  charatwr  after  a  cursory  (fiance 
arounll— Mrs.  Weymoro   never  advancing  be- 

?ond  the  threshold.  She  had  not  spo  .un,  and 
hat  white  pallor  made  hei  face  Rhastly  still. 

"  I'll  show  you  the  picture-gallery,"  said  Mrs. 
HiUiani;  "and  then,  I  believe,  you  wlU  have 
Been  all  tliat  Is  worth  seeing  at  Thettord 
Towers.'" 

She  lid  th<'  way  to  a  long,  half-lightc<l  room, 
wainscoted  ami  antique,  like  all  the  rest,  whore 
long  rows  of  dead  and  Kone  Thetfords  looke<l 
down  from  the  carved  walls.  There  were  kninht,s 
In  armor,  countesses  in  ruffles  and  powder  and 
lace,  bishops  in  mitre  r  ■  head  and  crozlcr  in 
band,  and  judges  in  Kown  and  wig.  There  were 
ladies  in  pointed  stomachers  and  jeweled  fans, 
with  the  waists  of  their  dresses  under  their  arras, 
but  all  'lir  and  handsome,  and  unmistakably 
alike.  Last  of  all  the  long  array,  there  was  Sir 
Noel,  a  fair-haired,  handsome  youth  of  twenty, 
with  a  smile  on  his  face  and  a  happy  radiance 
In  his  blue  eyes.  And  by  his  side,  dark  and 
haughty  and  beautiful,  was  ray  lady  in  her 
bridal-robes. 

"  There  is  not  a  handsomer  face  amongst  them 
all  than  my  lady's,"  said  Mrs.  Hilliard,  with 
pride.  "  You  ought  to  have  seen  her  when  Sir 
Noel  first  brought  her  home;  slio  was  the  most 
beaut  if  ul  creature  I  ever  looked  at.  Ah !  it  was 
such  a  pity  he  was  killed.  I  suppose  they'll  be 
having  Sir  Rupert's  taken  next  and  hung  beside 
her.  He  don't  look  much  like  the  Thetfords; 
ae'a  his  mother  over  again — a  Vandeleur,  dark 
ind  still." 

If  Mrs.  Weyraore  made  any  reply  the  house- 
keeper did  not  catch  it:  she  was  standing  with 
her  face  averted,  hardly  looking  at  the  portraits, 
and  was  the  first  to  leave  the  picture-gallery. 

There  were  a  few  more  rooms  to  be  seen — a 
drawing-room  suite,  now  closed  and  disused;  an 
ancient  library,  with  a  wonderful  stained  win- 
dow, and  a  vast  echoing  reception-room.  But 
•;  was  all  over  at  last,  and  Mrs.  Hilliard,  with 
her  keys,  trotted  cheerfully  oC;  and  Mrs.  Wey- 
more  was  left  to  solitude  and  her  own  thought^ 
once  more. 

A  strange  person,  certainly.  She  locked  the 
door  and  fell  down  on  her  knees  by  the  bed.side, 
Bobbing  until  her  whole  form  was  convulsed. 

"  Oh!  why  did  I  come  here  ?  ^Vhy  did  I  come 
here  V  "  came  passionately  with  the  wild  storm 
of  sobs.  "  I  might  have  known  how  it  would 
bel  Nearly  nine  years— nine  long,  long  years, 
and  not  to  have  forgotten  yet  I " 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  JOCBNET  TO  LONDON, 

Vbbt  slowly,  very  monotonously  went  life  at 
Thetford  Towers.  The  only  noticeable  change 
was  that  my  lady  went  rather  more  into  society, 
and  a  greater  n  imber  of  visitors  came  to  the 
manor.  There  had  been  u  children's  party  on 
the  occasion  of  Sir  Rupert's  eighth  birthday,  and 
Mrs.  Weymore  had  played  for  the  little  people 
to  dance;  and  ray  lady  had  cast  oft  her  chronic 
gloom,  and  been  handsome  and  happy  as  of 
old.  There  had  been  a  dinner-party  later — an 
•nprecedented  event  now  at  Thetford  Towers; 
and  the  weeds,  worn  so  long,  had  been  discard- 
ed, and  in  diamonds  an<I  black  velvet  Lady  Ada 
Thetford  had  been  beautiful,  and  stately,  end 
gracious,  as  a  young  queen.  No  one  knew  the 
reason  of  the  sudden  change,  but  they  accepted 
the  fact  just  as  they  Lad  found  it,  and  set  It 
down,  perhaps,  to  woman's  caprice. 

So  slowly  the  summer  passed:  autumn  came 
and  went,  and  it  was  Deceml)er,  and  the  ninth 
anniversary  of  Sir  Noel's  death. 

A  gloomy  day — wet,  and  wild,  and  windy. 
The  wind,  sweeping  over  the  angry  sea,  surged 
and  roarM  through  the  skeleton  trees;  the  rain 
hiBhed  the  windows  in  rattling  gusts;  and  the 
leaden  sky  hung  low  and  frowning  over  the 
drenched  and  dreary  earth.  A  dismal  day — 
very  like  that  other,  nine  years  ago,  that  had 
been  Sir  Noel's  last. 

In  Lady  Thetford's  boudoir  a  bright-red  coal 
fire  blazed.  Pale-blue  curtains  of  satin  damask 
shut  out  the  wintry  prospect,  and  the  softest 
and  richest  of  foreign  carpets  hushed  every  foot- 
fall. Before  the  fire,  on  a  little  table,  my  lady's 
breakfast  temptingly  stood;  the  silver,  old  and 
quaint;  the  rare  antique  porcelainsparklinginthe 
ruddy  firelight.  An  easy  chair,  carved  and  gild- 
ed, and  cushioned  in  azure  velvet,  stood  by  the 
table;  and  near  my  lady's  plate  lay  the  letters 
and  papers  the  morning's  nuiil  had  brought. 

A  toy  of  a  clock  on  the  low  marble  mantle 


chimed  musically  ten  as  my  lady  entered.  In 
her  dainty  morning  negligee,  with  her  dark  hair 
rippling  and  falling  low  on  her  neck,  she  looked 
very  young,  and  fair,  and  graceful.  Behind  her 
came  her  maid,  a  blooming  English  girl,  who 
took  oft  the  cover  and  poured  out  my  lady's 
chocolate. 

Lady  Thetford  sank  languidly  Into  the  azure 
velvet  depths  of  her  fanleuil,  and  took  up  her 
letters.  There  were  three — one  a  note  from  her 
man  of  business;  one  an  invitation  to  a  dinner- 
party; and  the  third,  a  big  offlcial-looking  docu- 
ment, with  a  huge  seal,  nd  no  end  of  postmarks. 
The  languid  eyes  suudenly  lighted;  the  pale 
cheeks  flushed  as  she  took  it  eagerly  up.  It  was 
a  letter  from  India  from  C'apt.  Everard. 

Lady  Thetford  sipp(?d  her  chocolate,  and  read 
her  letter  leisurely,  with  her  slippered  feet(m  the 
shilling  frnder.  It  was  a  long  letter,  and  slie 
read  it  over  slowly  twi.-e,  three  times,  before 
she  laid  it  down.  She  finished  her  breakfast, 
motioned  her  inai<l  to  remove  the  service,  ana 
lying  back  in  lier  chair,  with  her  deep,  dark  eyes 
fixed  dreamily  on  the  lire,  she  fell  into  a  reverie 
of  other  days  far  gone.  The  lover  of  her  girl- 
hood came  back  to  her  from  over  the  sea.  Ho 
was  lying  at  her  feet  once  more  in  the  long  sum- 
mer days,  under  the  waving  trees  of  her  girl- 
hood's home.  Ah,  how  happyl  how  happy  she 
had  been  in  those  by-gone  days,  before  Sir  Noel 
Thetford  had  come,  with  his  wealth  a'ld  his 
title,  to  tempt  her  from  her  love  and  truth. 

Eleven  strack,  twelve  from  the  musical  clock 
on  the  mantle,  and  still  my  lady  sat  living  in  the 
past.  Outside  the  wintry  storm  raged  on;  the 
rain  clamored  against  the  curtained  glass,  and 
the  wind  worried  the  trees.  With  a  long  sigh 
my  lady  awoke  from  her  dream,  and  mechanic- 
ally took  up  the  Tlnus  newspaper— the  first  of 
the  little  heap. 

"  Vainl  vainl "  she  thought,  dreamily;  "worse 
than  vain  those  dreams  now.  With  my  own 
hand  I  threw  back  the  heart  that  loved  me:  of 
my  own  free  will  I  resigned  the  man  I  loved. 
And  now  the  old  love,  that  I  thought  would  die 
in  the  splendor  of  my  new  life,  is  stronger  than 
ever — and  ic  is  nine  years  too  late." 

She  tried  to  wrench  her  thoughts  a'vay  and  fix 
them  on  her  newspaper.  In  vaiii!  her  eyes 
windered  aimlessly  over  the  closely-printed  col- 
umns— her  mind  was  in  India  with  C'apt.  Ever- 
aid.  All  at  once  she  started,  uttered  a  sudden, 
sharp  cry,  and  grasped  the  paper  with  dilated 
eyes  and  whitening  cheeks.  At  the  top  of  a  col- 
umn of  "  personal "  advcTtisements  was  one 
w  hieh  her  strained  eyes  literally  devoured. 

"  If  Mr.  Vyklng,  who  ten  years  ago  left  a  male 
iifant  in  charge  of  Mrs.  Martha  Brand,  wishes 
to  keep  that  chil ;  out  of  the  work-house,  he  will 
call,  within  the  next  five  days,  at  No  17  Wad- 
<llngton  Street,  Lambeth." 

Again  and  again,  and  again  Ijidy  Thetford 
read  this  apparently  uninteresting  advertise- 
ment. Slowly  the  paper  dropped  into  her  lap, 
and  she  sat  staring  blankly  into  the  fire. 

"  At  lastl  "  she  thought,  "  at  last  It  has  come. 
I  fancied  all  danger  was  over — that  death,  per 
haps,  had  forestalled  me;  and  now,  after  all 
these  years,  I  am  summoned  to  keep  ray  broken 
promise! " 

The  hue  of  deatti  had  settled  on  her  face;  she 
sat  cold  and  rigid,  staring  with  that  blank,  fixed 
gaze  into  the  fire.  Ceaselessly  beat  the  rain; 
wilder  grew  the  December  day;  steadily  the  mo- 
ments wore  on,  and  still  she  sat  in  that  fixed 
trance.  The  ormula  clock  struck  two — the  sound 
aroueed  her  at  last. 

"I  must!"  she  said,  setting  her  teeth.  "I 
will!  My  boy  shall  not  lose  his  birthright,  come 
what  may!" 

She  rose  and  rang  the  bell — very  pale,  but  icily 
calm.    Her  maid  answered  the  summons. 

"Eliza,"  my  lady  asked,  •'  at  what  hour  does 
the  aftirnoon  train  leave  St.  Gosport  for  Lon- 
don? " 

Eliza  stared — did  not  know,  but  would  ascer- 
tain.   In  five  minutes  slio  was  back. 

"  At  half-past  three,  my  lady;  and  another  at 
seven." 

Lady  Thetford  glanced  at  the  clock— it  was  a 
quarter  past  two. 

"  Tell  William  to  have  the  carriage  at  the  door 
at  a  quarter  post  three;  and  do  you  pack  my 
dressing-case,  and  the  few  things  I  shall  need 
for  two  or  three  days'  absence.  I  am  going  to 
London." 

Eliza  stood  for  a  moment  quite  petrified.  In 
all  the  nine  years  of  her  service  under  my  lady, 
no  such  order  as  this  had  ever  been  received. 
To  go  to  Londonatamoment's  notice— my  lady, 
who  rarely  weiit  beyond  her  own  park  gatesl 
Turning  away,  not  quite  certain  that  h«r  ears 


had  not  deceived  her,  my  lady's  voice  arreated 
her. 

"  Send  Mrs.  Weymore  to  me;  and  do  you  loae 
no  time  in  packing  up." 

Eliza  departed.  Mrs  Weymore  appeared. 
My  lady  had  some  Instructions  to  give  concern- 
ing the  children  during  her  absence.  Then  the 
governess  was  dismissed,  and  she  was  again 
ahme. 

Through  the  wind  and  rain  of  the  wintry 
storm.  Lady  Thetford  was  driven  to  the  station, 
in  time  to  catch  the  three-fifty  train  to  the  me- 
tropolis. She  went  unattended;  with  no  message 
to  any  one,  only  saying  she  would  be  back  in 
three  days  at  the  furthest. 

In  that  dull  household,  where  so  few  event* 
ever  disturbed  the  stagnant  quitt,  this  siMider 
journey  produced  an  indescribable  sensation. 
Wlmt  could  have  taken  my  lady  to  London  at  a 
moment's  notice  f  Some  urgent  reason  It  must 
have  been  to  force  her  out  of  the  gloomy  secltl- 
sion  in  which  she  hail  buried  herself  since  hei 
husband's  death.  But,  discuss  it  as  they  might, 
they  could  come  no  nearer  the  heart  of  tlw 
mystery. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

OUT. 

TnB  rainy  Deccmlwr  day  closed  In  a  ralnlei 
night.  Another  day  dawned  on  the  world, 
sunless,  and  chilly,  and  overcast  still. 

It  dawned  on  London  in  murkv,  yellow  fog, 
on  sloppy,  muddy  streets— in  glodi'n  and  dreari- 
ness, and  a  raw,  easterly  wind.  In  the  densely 
populated  streets  of  the  district  of  Lambeth, 
where  poverty  huddled  in  tall,  gaunt  buildings, 
the  dismal  light  stole  murkily  and  slowly  over 
the  crowded,  filthy  streets  and  swarming  pur- 
lieus. 

In  a  small  upper  room  of  a  large  dilapidated 
house,  this  bad  December  moniing,  a  painter 
stood  at  his  easel.  The  room  was  bare  and  cold, 
and  comfortless  in  the  extreme;  the  painter 
was  middle-aged,  small,  brown  and  shriveled, 
and  very  much  out  at  elbows.  The  dull,  gray 
light  fell  full  or  his  work— no  inspiraticm  ol 
genius  by  any  means— only  the  portrait,  coarsely 
colored,  of  a  fat,  well-to-do  butcher's  daughter 
round  the  comer.  The  man  was  Joseph  Legard, 
scene-painter  to  one  of  the  minor  city  theatrea, 
who  eked  out  his  slender  income  by  painting 
portraits  when  ho  could  get  them  to  paint.  He 
was  as  fond  of  his  art  as  any  of  the  great,  old 
masters;  but  he  had  only  one  attribute  in  com- 
mon with  those  immortals — extreme  poverty: 
for  his  salary  was  not  large,  and  Mr.  Legaro 
found  it  a  tight  fit,  indeed,  to  "  make  both  enda 
meet." 

So  he  stood  over  his  work  this  dull  morning, 
however,  in  his  flreless  room,  with  a  cheerfiu, 
brown  face,  whistling  a  tune.  In  the  adjoining 
room  ho  could  hear  his  wife's  voice  raised 
shrilly,  and  the  cries  of  half  a  dozen  Legards. 
He  was  used  to  it,  and  it  did  not  disturb  him; 
and  he  painted  and  whistled  cheerily,  touching 
up  the  butcher's  daughter's  snub  nose  and  fat 
cheeks  and  double  chin,  until  light  footsteps 
came  running  up-stairs,  and  the  door  was  flung 
wide  by  an  impetuous  hand.  A  boy  of  ten,  or 
thereabouts,  came  in— a  bright-eyed,  falr-halred 
lad,  with  a  handsome,  resolute  face,  and  eyes 
of  cloudless,  Saxon  blue. 

"Ah,  Guy!"  said  the  scene-painter,  turning 
round  and  nodding  good-humoredly.  "I've 
been  expecting  you!  What  do  you  think  ot 
Miss  Jenkins  f " 

The  boy  looked  at  the  Jlcture  with  the  glance 
of  an  embryo  connoisseur. 

•It's  as  like  her  as  two  peas,  Joe;  or  would 
be,  if  her  hair  was  a  little  redder,  and  h'i-  nose 
a  little  thicker,  and  the  freckles  were  plainer. 
But  it  looks  like  her  as  it  is." 

"Well,  you  see,  Guy,"  said  the  painter,  going 
on  with  Miss  Jenkins's  left  eyebrow,  "it  don't 
do  to  make  'em  too  true — people  don't  like  it; 
they  pay  their  money,  and  they  expect  to  take 
it  out  in  good  looks.  And  now,  aay  news  thia 
morning,  Guy?" 

The  boy  leaned  against  the  window  and  looked 
out  into  the  dingy  street,  his  bright,  young  face 
growing  gloomy  and  overcast. 

"No,"  ho  said,  moodily;  "there  Is  no  news, 
except  that  Phil  Darking  was  drunk  last  night 
and  savago  as  a  mad  dog  this  morning— «n& 
that's  no  news,  I'm  surel" 

"  And  nobody's  come  abont  the  adrertiso- 
ment  in  the  Times!" 

"No,  and  never  will.  It's  all  humbug  what 
granny  says  about  my  belonging  to  anybody 
rich;  if  I  did,  they'd  have  seen  after  mc  long 
ago.    Phil  says  my  mother  was  a  boaaemait^ 


\ 


SIR    NOEL'S    HEIR. 


arreflted 
|do  you  low 

appeared, 
concern- 
Then  the 
I  was  again 

Ithe  wintry 
The  station, 
I  to  the  me- 
Flo  tnvsRHgt 
I  be  bacJi  in 

Ifew  i'vpnt« 

|hlH  snider 

st'imation, 

london  at  a 

fon  it  must 

amy  seciu- 

ainee  hei 

Ihcy  might, 

cf  the 


•nd  my  faCher  a  valet — and  they  were  only  too 
glad  to  get  me  off  their  handn.  Vyl(ing  was  a 
valet,  granny  sayM  she  knowa;  and  it's  n>)t  likely 
he'll  tnrn  up  after  all  these  years.  I  don't  care, 
I'd  rather  go  to  the  work-liouse;  I'd  rather 
itarre  in  the  fltri^ets,  than  live  another  week 
with  Phil  Darking," 

The  blue  eye>4  tilled  with  tears,  and  he  dashed 
them  pa-ssionatcly  away.  The  painter  looked 
up  with  a  distre.ised  face. 

"  Han  he  Iwcn  beating  you  again,  Guyf" 

"  It's  no  matter— he's  a  hrutel  (iranny  and 
Ellen  an'  sorry,  and  do  what  they  can;  but 
"  at's  nothing.    I  wish  I  hod  never  been  bornl" 

"  It  is  hard,"  saiil  the  painter,  compaswionate- 
ly,  "  but  kei'p  up  heart,  (luy;  if  the  worst  comes, 
why  you  can  .ftop  here  and  take  pot^luck  with 
the  rest— not  that  that's  mnch  better  than  starva- 
tion. You  can  take  to  my  I)usine88  shortly. 
now;  and  you'll  make  a  better  scene-painter 
than  ever  I  coukL     You've  got  it  in  you." 

"  Do  you  really  thiuk  so,  Joe  ?  "  cried  the  boy, 
with  sparkling  eye.  "Do  you?  I'd  rather  be 
an  artl.ft  thau  a  king Hallool  " 

He  stoppwl  short  in  surprise,  staring  out  of  the 
Window.  Legard  looked.  Up  the  dirty  street 
came  a  handsome  cab,  and  stopped  at  their  own 
door.  The  liriver  alighted,  made  some  inquiry, 
then  opened  the  cab-door,  ai;d  a  ludy  stepped 
lightly  out  on  the  curb-stone— a  lady,  tall  and 
■lately,  dressed  in  black  and  closely  veiled. 

"Now,  who  can  this  visitor  be  for?"  said 
Legard  "  People  in  this  neighborhfKMj  ain't  in 
the  habit  of  having  morning  calls  made  on  them 
In  cabs.    She's  coming  up-stairs!  " 

He  held  the  door  open,  listening.  The  lady 
ascended  the  first  flight  of  stairs,  stopped  on  the 
landing,  and  inquired  of  some  one  for  "  Mrs. 
Martha  Brand." 

"For  grannyl  "  exclaimed  the  boy.  "Joe,  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  it  was  some  one  about  that 
advertisement,  after  all! " 

"Neither  should  I,"  said  Legard.  "There! 
she's  gone  in.  You'll  be  sent  for  directly, 
Guy!" 

Yes,  the  lady  had  gone  in.  She  had  encoun- 
tered on  the  landing  a  sickly  young  woman  with 
a  baby  in  her  arms,  who  had  stared  at  the  name 
she  inquired  for. 

"Mrs.  Martha  Brand?  Why,  that's  mother! 
Walk  in  this  way,  it  you  please,  ma'am." 

She  opened  the  door,  and  ushered  the  veiled 
lady  into  a  small,  close  room,  poorly  furnished. 
Over  a  smould  ^ring  Are,  mending  stockings,  sat 
an  old  woman,  who,  notwithstanding  the  ex- 1 
treme  shabbiness  and  poverty  of  her  dress,  lifted 
a  pleasant,  intelligent  old  face. 

"A  lady  to  see  you,  mother,"  said  the  young 
woman,  hushing  her  fretful  baby  and  looking 
curiously  at  the  veiled  face. 

But  the  lady  made  no  attempt  to  raise  the 
envious  screen,  not  even  when  Mrs,  Martha 
Bracd  got  up,  droppiug  a  respectful  little  ser- 
vant's courtesy  and  placing  a  chair.  It  was  a 
very  thick  veil — an  impenetrable  shield— and 
nothing  could  be  discovered  of  the  face  l)ehind 
It  but  that  it  was  fixedly  pale.  She  sank  into  the 
seat,  her  face  turned  to  the  old  woman  behind 
that  sable  screen. 

"  Tou  are  Mrs.  Brand  ?  " 

The  voice  was  reflned  ana  patrician.  It  would 
have  told  she  was  a  lady,  even  if  the  rich  gar- 
ments she  wore  <iid  not. 

"  Yes.ma'am— your  ladyship;  Martha  Brand." 

"  And  you  inserted  that  advertisement  in  the 
Times  regarding  a  child  left  in  your  care  ten 
years  ago?" 

Mother  and  daughter  started,  and  stared  at  the 
speaker. 

"  It  was  addressed  to  Mr.  Vyking,  who  left  the 
child  in  your  charge,  by  which  I  infer  you  are 
not  aware  that  he  has  left  England." 

"Left  England,  has  he?"  said  Mrs.  Brand. 
"  More  shame  for  him,  then,  never  to  let  me 
know  or  leave  a  farthing  to  support  the  boy! " 

"  I  am  inclined  to  believe  it  was  not  his  fault," 
said  the  clear,  patrician  voice.  "He  left  Eng- 
land suddenly  and  against  his  will,  8;id,  I  have 
reason  to  think,  will  never  return.  But  there 
are  others  interested— more  interested  than  he 
could  possibly  be — in  the  child,  who  remain, 
and  who  are  willing  to  take  him  off  your  hands. 
But  first,  why  is  it  you  are  so  anxious,  after 
keeping  him  all  these  years,  to  get  rid  of  him  ? " 

"  Well,  you  see,  your  ladyship,"  replied  Martha 
Brand,  "it  is  not  me,  nor  likewise  Ellen  there, 
who  is  my  daughter.  We'd  keep  the  lad  and 
welcome,  and  share  the  last  crust  we  had  with 
him.  as  we  often  have — tor  we're  very  poor  peo- 
ple; but,  you  see,  Ellen,  she's  married  now,  and 
her  husband  never  could  !)ettr  (iuy — that's  what 
we  call  him,  your  laUyahip -Guy,  which  it  was 


Mr.  Vyklng's  own  orders.  Phil  Darking,  her 
husband,  never  did  like  him  somehow;  and  when 
he  gets  drunk,  saving  your  ladyship's  presence, 
he  beats  him  most  unmerciful.  And  now  we're 
going  t/)  America — to  New  York,  where  Phil's 
got  a  brother  and  work  is  twtter,  and  he  won't 
fetch  (iuy.  .So,  your  ladyship,  I  thought  I'd  try 
once  more  l)efore  we  deserted  him,  and  put 
that  advertisement  in  the  7i»i«.  which  I'm  very 
glad  1  did,  if  it  will  fetch  the  poor  liul  any 
friends." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause;  then  the  lady 
asked,  thoughtfully:  "And  when  do  you  leave 
for  New  York?" 

"The  day  after  to-morrow,  ma'am— and  a 
long  journey  it  is  for  a  poor  old  body  like  me." 

"  Did  you  live  here  when  Mr.  Vyking  left  tht! 
child  with  you— in  this  neighborhoo<l  ?  " 

"  Not  in  this  neighborho(Ml,  nor  in  London  at 
all,  your  ladyship.  It  was  Lowdean,  in  Berk- 
shirc,  and  my' husband  was  alive  at  the  time.  I 
had  ]u«t  lost  my  baby,  and  the  landlady  of  the 
hotel  recommended  mi!.  So  he  brought  it,  and 
paid  mv  thirty  sovereigns,  and  promised  me 
thirty  more  everj'  twelvemonth,  and  told  me  to 
call  it  Guy  Vyking— and  that  was  the  last  I  ever 
saw  of  him." 

"Ami  the  infant's  mother?"  said  the  lady, 
her  voice  changing  perceptibly — "do  you  know 
anything  of  her?  "  • 

"  But  ver)'  little,"  said  Martha  Brand,  shaking 
her  head.  "I  never  set  eyes  im  her,  although 
she  was  sick  at  the  inn  for  upward  of  three 
weeks.  But  Mrs.  Vine,  the  landlady,  she  .saw 
her  twice;  and  she  told  me  what  a  pretty  young 
creeter  she  was — and  a  lady,  if  there  ever  was  a 
lady  yet." 

"Thin  the  child  was  Imm  in  Berk.'^hire— how 
was  it?" 

' '  Well,  your  ladyship,  it  was  an  aci  ident,  see- 
ing as  how  the  carriage  broke  down  with  Mr. 
Vyking  and  the  lady,  a  driving  furious  to  catch 
the  last  London  train.  The  lady  was  so  hurted 
that  she  had  to  be  carried  to  the  Inn,  and  went 
quite  out  of  her  head,  raving  and  dangerous 
like.  Mr.  Vyking  had  the  landlady  to  wait  upon 
her  until  he  could  telegraph  to  London  for  a 
nurse,  which  one  came  down  next  day  and  took 
charge  of  her.  The  baby  wasn't  two  days  old 
when  he  brought  it  to  me,  and  the  poor  young 
mother  waa  dreadful  low  and  out  of  her  head  all 
the  time.  .Mr.  Vyking  and  the  nurse  were  all 
that  saw  her,  and  the  doctor,  of  course;  but  she 
didn't  die,  as  the  doctor  thought  she  would,  but 
got  well,  and  l)efore  she  came  right  to  her  sensi's 
Mr.  Vyking  paid  the  doctor  and  told  him  he 
needn't  come  back.  And  then,  a  little  more 
than  a  fortnight  after,  they  took  her  away,  all  sly 
and  .secret-like,  and  what  they  told  her  about  her 
poor  baby  I  don't  know.  I  always  thought  there 
was  something  dreadful  wrong  about  the  whole 
thing." 

"  And  this  Mr.  Vyking — was  he  the  child's 
father — the  woman's  husband  ?  " 

Martha  Brand  looked  sharply  at  the  speaker, 
as  if  she  suspected  she  could  answer  that  ques- 
tion best  herself. 

"Nobody  knew,  but  everybody  thought  who. 
I've  always  been  r.f  opinion  myself  that  Guy's 
father  and  mother  were  gentlefolks,  and  I  always 
shall  be." 

"  Does  the  boy  know  his  own  story  ? " 

"  Yes,  your  ladyship — all  I've  told  you." 

"  Where  is  he?    I  should  like  to  seehim." 

Mrs.  Brand's  daughter,  aU  this  time  hushing 
her  baby,  started  up. 

"  I'll  fetch  him.  He's  up-stairs  in  Legard's,  I 
know." 

She  left  the  room  and  ran  up-sta'rs.  The 
painter,  Legard,  still  was  touching  up  Miss 
Jenkins,  and  the  bright-haired  boy  stood  watch- 
ing the  progress  of  that  work  of  art. 

"Guy!  Guyl"  she  cried  breathles.sly,  "come 
down-stairs  at  onee.    You're  wanted." 

"  Who  wants  me,  Ellen  ? " 

"  A  lady,  dressed  in  the  most  elegant  and  ex- 
pensive mourning— a  real  lady,  Guy;  and  she  has 
come  about  that  advertisement,  and  she  wants  to 
see  you." 

"What  is  she  like,  Mrs.  Darking?"  inquired 
the  painter — "  young  or  old  ?  " 

"  Y'oung,  I  should  think;  but  she  hides  her 
face  behind  a  thick  veil,  as  if  she  didn't  want  to 
be  known.     Come,  Guy." 

She  hurried  the  lad  down-stairs  and  into  their 
little  room.  The  veiled  lady  still  sat  talking  to 
the  old  woman,  her  back  to  the  dim  daylight, 
and  that  disguising  veil  still  down.  She  turned 
slightly  at  their  entrance,  and  looked  ;it  the  boy 
through  it.  (ruy  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  fl(H)r, 
his  fearless  blue  eyes  fixed  on  the  hidden  face. 
Could  he  have  seen  it  he  might  have  started  at 


the  grayish  pallor  which  ovempri'ad  it  at  sight  of 
him. 

"So  like!  So  like!  "  the  lady  was  murmuring 
between  her  sej  teeth.  "  It  is  terrible— it  is  mar- 
velous!" 

"This  is  Guy,  your  ladyship,"  said  Martha 
Brand.  "I've  done  what  I  could  for  him  for 
the  last  ten  yearn,  and  I'm  almost  as  sorry  to 
port  with  him  as  if  he  were  my  own  Is  your 
ladyship  going  to  take  him  away  with  you 
now?" 

"  No,"  said  her  ladyship,  sharply;  "  I  have  no 
such  intention.  Have  you  no  neighoor  or  friend 
who  would  be  willing  to  take  and  bring  him  up, 
if  well   paid   for  the  trouble?    This  time  the 

]  money  shall  tie  paid  without  fail." 

I      "  There's  I^egard's,"  cried  the  boy,  eagerly. 

I  "  I'll  go  to  Legard's,  granny.  I'd  rather  be  with 
Joe  than  anywhere  else." 

"  It's  a  neighbor  that  lives  up-(  tairs,"  mur- 
mured Martha,  in  explanation.  "He  always 
took  to  tiny  and  Guy  to  him  in  a  way  that's 
quite  wonderful.  He's  a  very  decent  man,  your 
ladyship — a   painter    for  a  theatre;    and   Guy 

1  takes  kindly  to  the  business,  and  would  like  to 
be  one  himself.  If  you  don't  want  to  t-  '<e 
away  the  boy,  you  couldn't  leave  him  in  ben.T 

j  hands." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.     (an  I  see  the  man  ' 

I      "  I'll  fetch  him!"  cried  Guy,  and  ran  out  of 

;  the  room.  Two  minutes  later  came  Mr.  Legard, 
jiaper  cap  and  shirt-sleeves,  bowing  verj-  low  to 
the  grand,  black-robed  lady,  and  only  too  de- 
lighted to  strike  a  bargain.  The  lady  offered 
liberally;  Mr.  I^egard  closed  with  the  offer  at 
once. 

"  You  will  clothe  him  better,  and  you  will 
educate  him  and  give  liim  your  name.  I  wish 
him  to  drop  that  of  Vyking.  The  same  amount 
I  give  you  now  will  be  sent  you  this  time  every 
year.  It  you  change  your  residence  in  the  mean- 
time, or  wish  to  communicate  with  me  on  any 
occurrence  of  consequence,  you  can  address 
Madam  Ada,  post  office,  PljTnouth." 

She  rose  as  she  spoke,  stately  and  tall,  and 
motioned  Mr.  Legard  to  withdraw.  The  paint- 
er gathered  up  the  money  she  laid  on  the  table, 
and  bowed  himself,  with  a  radiant  face,  out  of 
the  room. 

"  As  for  you,"  turning  to  old  Martha,  and 
taking  out  of  her  purse  a  roll  of  crisp.  Bank  of 
England  notes,  "I  think  this  will  paj  you  for 
the  trouble  you  have  had  with  the  boy  during 
the  lost  ten  years.  No  thanks — you  have  earned 
the  money." 

She  moved  to  the  door,  made  a  slight,  proud 
gesture  with  her  gloved  liand  in  farewell,  took  a 
last  look  at  the  golden  haired,  blue  eyed,  hand- 
some boy,  and  wa.s  gone.  A  moment  later  and 
her  cab  rattled  out  of  the  murky  street,  and  the 
trio  were  alone  staring  at  one  another,  and  at 
the  bulky  roll  of  notes. 

"  I  should  think  it  was  a  dream  only  for  this, " 
murmured  old  Martha,  looking  at  the  roll  with 
glistening  eyes.  "  A  great  lady— a  great  lady, 
sure'yl  Guy,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  that  was 
your  mother." 


CHAPTER   VII. 

COLONEL      JOCTLN. 

Five  ir.iles  away  from  Thetford  Towers,  where 
the  multittidinous  waves  leaped  and  ghstened 
all  day  in  the  sunlight,  as  it  u-glitter  with  dia- 
monds, stood  Joeyln  Hall.  An  imposing  struc- 
ture of  red  brick,  not  yet  one  hundred  years  old, 
with  sloping  meadows  spreading  away  hito  the 
blue  horizon,  and  densely  wooded  plantations 
gliding  down  to  the  wide  sea. 

Colonel  Jocylii,  the  lord  of  these  boundless 
meadows  and  inilcs  of  woodland,  where  the  red 
deer  disported  in  the  green  arcades,  was  absent 
in  India,  and  had  been  for  the  past  nine  years. 
They  were  an  old  family,  the  Jocylns,  C3  old  as 
any  in  Devon,  and  with  a  pride  that  bore  no 
proportion  to  their  purse,  until  the  present 
Joeyln  had,  all  at  once,  become  a  millionaire. 
A  penniless  young  lieutenant  in  a  cavalry  regi- 
ment, qimrtcred  somewhere  in  Ireland,  with  a 
handsome  face  and  dashing  manners,  he  had 
captivated,  at  first  sight,  a  wild,  young  Irish 
heiress  of  fabulous  wealth  and  beauty.  It  was 
a  love-match  on  lier  side— nobody  knew  exactly 
what  it  was  on  his;  but  they  made  a  moonlight 
flitting  of  it,  for  the  lady's  friends  were  griev- 
ously wroth.  Lieutenant  Joeyln  liked  his  pro- 
fession for  its  own  sake,  and  took  his  Irish  bride 
to  India,  and  there  an  heiress  and  only  child  was 
born  to  him.  The  climate  disagreed  with  the 
young  wife — she  sickened  and  died;  but  the 
young  officer  and  his  baby  girl  remained  in  In- 
dia.   In  the  fullness  of  time  he  boitamc  Colonel 


p^ip 


mmm 


w^^ 


8 


;SIR   NOEL'S    HEIR. 


if 


/ 

r, 


1^ 


JoctId;  and  one  ilayeleotrlfled  his  h(  uj>ekp«por  by 
aletUir  aniKmnnlrw  IiIh  Intuition  ol  n'turnlnjcto 
Kngland  with  hl.n  littlt-  dauKlitiT  Alli'  'ii  for  good. 

That  name  month  of  Di'Ltimlwr,  whii;U  took 
U»dy  Thetfortl  on  that  in)  sttTloiu  I,  mdon  Jour- 
ney, brouiflit  this  litter  from  Calcutta.  Five 
monthn  after,  when  the  May  iiilmroHts  and  hya- 
cinths were  Ai\  abloom  In  the  irreen  Hei.wlde  w<M)d- 
^nds,  Colonel  Jooyln  and  bia  little  daui(bter  came 
home. 

Early  on  the  day  suoceedlnif  hla  arrlvnl,  Colonel 
Jocyin  rod'-  throuvb  the  bright  sprlnK  Hunsblne. 
•lont;  the  pieiwint  filKh  road  between  Ji  uyln  Hall 
and  Thetfonl  Towers.  He  had  met  thr  late  Ulr 
No<'l  uwl  hlH  hrldu  on(!e  or  twiee  previous  to  his 
departure  for  India:  but  there  had  beei  no  no- 
quaintanee  suffiuiently  ulose  to  warrant  thi  i  speedy 
oall. 

Lolly  Thetford,  sittlni;  alone  In  Iier  >  oudolr. 
looked  In  Hurprlse  at  the  ciinl  the  servant  b  -ought. 

"ColonelJ(X!yln,"she  sjild,  "I  did  not  even  know 
he  had  arrived.  And  to  cull  so  soon— iihl  p  rhaps 
be  fet<:hes  me  letti;rs  from  India." 

She  rose  at  the  thouKht.  her  pale  cheeks  fltishlnff 
a  Uttle  with  expectlon.  .Mail  after  mail  hiid  airived 
from  that  distant  land,  bringing  her  no  letter  from 
Captain  Kverard. 

Lady  Thetford  descended  at  once.  She  hac  few 
callers:  but  hbo  was  always  exquisitely  drrsxed 
and  ready  to  receive  at  a  moment  s  notice.  (  olo- 
nel  Jocyin— tall  and  sallow  and  soldierly— r)» 'J  at 
her  entrance. 

"  Lady  Thetford  f  Ah,  yesi  Most  happy  to  lee 
your  ladyship  once  more.  Permit  me  to  apologize 
for  this  very  early  call— you  wlU  overlook  my  haute 
when  you  hear  my  reason." 

Lady  Thetford  beJd  out  her  white  hand. 

"  Allow  me  to  welcome  you  buck  to  Knelan  1, 
Colonel  Jocyin.  You  have  come  for  Kood  this  tlm'!, 
I  hope.  And  little  Aileen  Is  well,  I  trust  V 

"  Very  well,  and  very  glad  to  be  released  from 
■hlpboard.  I  need  not  ask  for  youna  Sir  Kupert — 
I  saw  him  with  his  nur^e  in  the  park  as  I  rode  up. 
A  dne  boy,  and  like  you,  mylady." 

"  Y'es,  Rupert  Is  like  me.  .(Vnd  now— how  are  our 
mutual  friends  In  India  r' 

The  momentous  question  ni  ■  had  been  longing 
to  ask  from  the  first;  but  hei  well-tnined  voice 
■poke  it  as  steadily  as  though  It  bad  been  a  ques- 
tion of  the  weather. 

Colonel  Jocyln's  face  clouded,  darkened. 

"1  bring  bad  news  from  India,  my  lady.  Captain 
Ererard  was  a  friend  of  yours?" 

"Yes:  he  left  his  little  daughter  In  my  charge." 

"  I  know.   You  have  not  heard  from  him  lately  f" 

"No:  and  I  have  been  rather  anxious.  Nothing 
has  befallen  the  captain,  I  hoiieK'  ,^irf 

The  weU-tralnod  voice  shook  a  little desplteits 
admirable  traininij,  ai.d  the  slender  flnpors  looped 
and  unlooped  nervously  her  watch-cham. 

"  Yes,  Lady  Thetford;  the  very  worst  that  could 
befall  him.    George  Everard  Is  dead." 

There  was  a  blank  pause.  Colonel  Jooyln  looked 
grave  and  dowiioast  and  sad. 

"He  was  my  friend,"  he  said,  In  a  low  voice, 
"my  intimate  frlen.1  for  manv  ^  ears— a  flue  fellow 
and  brave  as  a  lioi..  Many,  many  nights  we  have 
lain  with  the  stars  of  India  shining  on  ourbivouao 
whilst  he  talked  to  mo  of  you,  of  England,  of  his 
daughter." 

Lady  Thetford  never  spoke,  never  stirred.  She 
was  sitting  ga7.ing  steailfastly  out  of  the  window 
at  the  sparkling  sunshine,  and  Colonel  Jocyin 
•ould  not  see  her  face. 

"  Ue  was  as  glorious  a  soldier  as  ever  I  knew," 
the  colonel  went  on;  '*  and  be  died  a  soldier's 
d3ath— shot  through  the  heart.  They  buried  him 
eut  there  with  military  honors,  and  some  of  bis 
Een  cried  on  his  grave  like  children." 

There  was  another  blank  pause.  Still  Lady  Thet- 
ford sat  with  that  fixed  gaze  on  the  brilliant  May 
■unshine,  moveless  as  stcme. 

"It  is  a  sad  thing  for  his  poor  little  girl,"  the  In- 
dian officer  said;  *  she  is  fortunate  In  having  such 
a  guardian  as  you,  LadyThetford." 

Lady  Thetford  awoke  from  her  trance.  She  had 
keen  In  a  trance,  and  the  years  had  slipped  back- 
ward, and  she  had  been  In  her  far-off  girlhood's 
home,  with  George  Everard,  her  handsome,  impetu- 
oaa  lover,  by  her  side.  She  had  loved  him  then, 
eren  when  she  said  no  and  married  another;  she 
loved  him  still,  and  now  he  was  dead— dcadi  But 
she  turned  to  her  visitor  with  a  face  that  told 
Dothing. 

"I  am  so  sorry — so  very,  yen"  orry.  My  poor 
Uttle  Mayl  Did  Captain  Everaru  speak  of  her,  of 
me,  before  he  diedf" 

"  He  died  Instantaneously,  my  lady.  There  was 
no  time." 

"  Ah,  nol  poor  fellowl  It  Is  the  fortune  of  war- 
but  it  Is  very  sad." 

That  was  all;  we  may  feel  inexpressibly,  but  we 
can  only  utter  commonplaces.  LadyThetford  was 
very,  very  pale,  but  her  pallor  told  nothing  of  the 
dreary  pain  at  her  heart. 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  Uttle  May?    I  will  send 
for  her." 
Little  May  was  sent  for  and  came.    A  brilliant 

little  fairy  as  eviT,  brightly  dressed,  with  shlm- 

nering  golden  curls  aiidstarry  eyes.    By  her  side 

stood  Sir  Kupert- the  nine-year-old  baronet,  grow- 
ing tall  very  fast,  pale  and  slender  still,  and  look- 
ing at  the  colonel  with  his  mother's  dark,  deep 

eyes. 
Colonel  Jocyin  held  out  his  hand  to  the  flaxen- 

ttalred  fairy. 
"  Come  here,  little  May.  and  kiss  papa's  friend. 

Tou  remember  papa,  dori't  youf" 


"  Yes,"  said  May,  sitting  on  his  knee  contentedly. 
"Oh,  yesI    When  is  papa  coming  horned    He  said  ' 
in  mamma's  letter  he  would  fetch  me  lots  and  lots  i 
of  dolls  and  pi('ture-lK>oks.    Is  he  coming  hnmeVi 

"  Not  very  soon,"  the  colonel  said,  inexpressibly 

touched;  "  but  little  .May  will  go  to  jiiipa  some  day.  | 

You  and  mamma,  I  suppose  f"  smiling  at  Lauy  , 


Thetfonl. 

"Yes,"  mnlded  May,  "that's  mamma,  and  Ru- 
pert's mamma.  Oh:  I  am  so  sorry  papa  isn't  com- 
ing home  H(HtnI  Do  you  know  "-looking  up  in  bis 
face  with  big,  shining,  solemn  eyes— "  I've  got  a 
pimy,  and  1  can  ride  lovely;  and  its  name  Is  Snow- 
drop, because  it's  all  white;  and  Rupert's  is  black, 
and  /ill  name  Is  Sultan y  And  I've  got  a  watch; 
mamma  gave  It  to  me  ia.st  Christmas;  and  my  doll's 
name— tlit>  lilg  one,  you  hnow,  that  opens  its  eyes 
and  says  '  mamma '  and  *  papa  '—Is  Honora.  Uuve 
you  got  any  little  girls  at  homer' 

"One,  Miss  I'hatterbox." 

"  What's  her  namo  " 

"  Ailoen— Aileen  Jocyin." 
"Is  she  nlee>' 


"  Very  nice,  I  think." 
"Wills 


he  come  to  see  me?" 

If  you  wish  It  and  mamma  wishes  It." 

"oh.yesi  you  do,  don't  you, mamma?  How  big 
is  your  little  girl— us  big  asnief" 

"  Bigger,  I  fancy.    She  Is  nine  years  old." 

"  Theu  »hi''s  as  fi!^;  as  iiuiii.'rt— *<■'»  nine  years  old. 
May  she  fetch  ber  doll  to  see  Sfniorar' 

"  Certainly— a  regiment  <if  dulls,  if  she  wishes." 

"Can't  she  cimie  tomorrciwt"  asked  Rupert. 
"To-morrow's  May's  birthday;  May's  seven  years 
old  to-morr  )W.    Mayn't  she  come  >'' 

**  That  must  bo  as  mamma  says." 

"  Ob,  fetch  her  1 "  cried  Lady  Thetford, ''  it  will 
be  so  nice  for  May  and  Rupert.  Only  I  hope  little 
May  won't  quarrel  with  her;  shodiiesquarrelvi'itb 
her  playmates  a  good  deal,  1  am  sorry  to  say." 

"  I  won't  If  she's  nice,"  said  May;  'it's  all  their 
fault,    oh,  Rupert  I  there's  Mrs.  Weymore  on  the 
lawn,  and  I  want  ber  to  come  and  see  the  rabbits.  ^ 
There's  five  little  rabbits  this  morning,  mamma— 
mayn't  I  go  and  show  tiiem  to  .Mrs.  Weyniuref  "      ! 

Lady  Thetford  nodded   smiling   acquiiscenee; 
and  away  ran  little  .M.iy  and  Rupert  to  show  the  j 
rabbits  to  the  povcrni'ss.  i 

Col.  Jocyin  lingered  fijr  half  an  hour  or  upward, 
conversing  with  his  hostess,  and  rose  to  take  his 
leave  at  last,  with  the  promise  of  returning  on  tlio  ] 
m.irrow  with  his  little  daughter,  and  dining  at  the  i 
house.    As  ho  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  home- 
ward, "a  haunting  shape,  an  hnage  gay,"  followed  i 
lilin  through  the  genial  May  sunshine— Lady  Ada 
Thetford,  fair,  and  stately  and  graceful.  I 

"Nine  years  a  widow,"  be  mused.  "They  say 
she  took  her  husband's  death  very  hard— and  no  j 
wonder,  considering  bow  he  died;  but  nine  years  ' 
is  a  tolerable  time  in  which  to  forget.  She  took 
the  news  of  Everard's  death  very  quietly.  1  don't 
suppose  there  was  ever  anything  really  In  that  old 
stoiy.    How  handsome  she  Is,  and  how  graceful  I  " 

He  broke  off  in  his  musing  fit  to  light  a  elgar, 
and  see  through  the  curling  smoke  dark-eyed  Ada, 
mamma  to  little  Aileen  as  well  as  the  other  two. 
He  lad  never  thought  of  wanting  a  wife  before, 
in  all  these  years  of  his  widowhood;  but  the  want 
struck  him  forcibly  now, 

"  And  Aileen  wants  a  mother,  and  the  little  bar- 
onet a  father,"  he  thought,  complacently;  "  my 
lady  can't  do  better." 

So  next  day  at  the  earliest  possible  hour,  came 
back  the  gallant  colonel,  and  with  him  a  brown- 
haired,  brown-eyed,  quiet-looking  Uttle  girl,  as  tali, 
every  inch,  as  Sir  Rupert.  A  little  embryo  patri- 
cian, with  pride  In  her  Infantile  lineaments  al- 
ready, an  uplifted  poise  of  the  graceful  head,  a 
Ught,  elastic  step,  and  a  softly-modulated  voice. 
A  little  lady  Irom  top  to  toe,  who  opened  her  little 
brown  eyes  in  wide  wonderat  the  antics,  and  gam- 
bols, and  obstreperousness,  generaUy,  of  little  May. 

There  were  two  or  three  children  from  the  rec- 
tory, and  half  a  dozen  from  other  families  In  the 
ncignborhood— and  the  little  birthday  least  waa 
under  the  charge  of  Mrs.  Weymore,  tlio  governess, 
pale  and  pretty,  and  subdued  as  of  old.  They 
raced  through  the  li'afy  arcades  of  the  park,  ana 
gamboled  in  the  garden,  and  had  tea  In  a  fairy 
summer  house,  to  the  music  of  plashing  foimtains 
—and  little  May  was  captain  of  the  band.  Even 
shy,  still  Aileen  Jocylnforgotheryouthful dignity, 
and  raced  and  laughed  with  the  best. 

"  It  was  so  nice,  papal "  she  cried  rapturously, 
riding  home  in  the  misty  moonlight.  "  I  never  en- 
Joyed  myself  so  well.  I  like  Rupert  so  much— bet- 
ter than  May,  you  know;  May's  so  rude  and  laughs 
so  loud.    I've  asked  them  to  come  and  see  me, 

fiapa;  and  May  said  she  would  make  her  mamma 
et  them  come  next  week.  And  then  I'm  going 
back— I  shaU  always  like  to  go  there." 

Col.  Jocyin  smiled  as  he  listened  to  his  little 
daughter's  prattle.  Perhaps  ho  agreed  with  her; 
perhaps  he,  too,  liked  to  go  there.  The  dinner- 
party, at  which  he  and  the  rector  of  St.  Gosport, 
and  the  rector's  wife  wero  the  only  guests,  had 
been  quite  as  pleasant  as  the  b  irthday  fi'te.  Very 
graceful,  very  fair  and  stately,  had  looked  the 
lady  of  the  manor,  presiding  at  ,lier  own  dinner- 
table.    How  well  she  would  look  at  the  head  of  his; 

The  Indian  officer,  after  that,  became  a  very  fre- 
quent guest  at  Thetford  Towers— the  children 
were  such  a  good  excuse.  Aileen  was  lonely  at 
home,  and  Rupert  and  May  were  always  glad  to 
have  her.  So  papa  drove  her  over  nearly  every 
day,  or  else  came  to  fetch  the  other  two  to  Jocyin 
Hall.  Lady  Thetford  was  ever  taiiil,  gracious,  and 
the  coloners  hopes  ran  high. 


Siynmer   waned.     It    was   October,  and   Lady 

Thetfonl  began  talking  of  leaving  St.  Oosport  for 
a  season:  her  health  was  not  good,  and  change  of 
air  was  recommended. 

"  I  can  leave  my  children  In  charge  of  Mra.  Wey- 
more," she  said.  "  I  have  every  confidence  In  berj 
and  she  has  been  with  me  so  long.  I  think  I  shall 
depart  next  week:  Dr.  Uule  says  I  have  delayed 
too  long  " 

Col.  ,I(Kyln  looke<l  up  uneasily.  They  were 
sitting  alone  togi  ther,  looking  at  tbe  reil  Octuber 
sunset  blazing  Itself  out  behind  the  Devon  hllh. 

"We  shall  miss  you  very  much,"  he  said,  aoftly. 
"  I  shall  miss  you. 

Something  in  his  tone  struck  Lady  Tlnitford. 
She  turned  her  dark  eyes  upon  him  In  surprise  and 
sudden  alarm.  The  look  had  to  tie  answerecft 
rather  embarrassed,  and  not  at  all  h»  confident  as 
he  thought  he  would  have  beej,  Col.  Jocyin  asked 
Lady  Thetford  to  be  bis  wife. 

There  was  a  blank  pause.    Then, 

"  I  am  very  sorry.  Col.  Jocyin,  I  never  thought 
oflhls" 

He  looked  at  her,  pale— alarmed. 

"  Does  that  mean  n<i,  Ijidy  Thetford  ?" 

"  It  means  no.  Col.  Jocyin.  I  have  never  thought 
of  you  save  as  a  friend:  as  a  friend  1  still  wish  to 
retain  you.  I  will  never  marry.  What  I  am  to-day 
1  will  go  to  niy  grave.  My  boy  has  my  whole  heart 
—there  Is  no  mum  in  it  for  anyone  else,  liet  us  b« 
friends,  Cul.  .Kh  yln,  "  holding  out  her  white  Jew- 
eled hand,  "  iiiori',  no  mortal  man  oan  ever  be  to 

me."  

CIIAITER  VIIL 

LADT   TUETFOHP'S  BALL. 

YEABscame  and  years  went,  and  thirteen  passed 
tway.  in  all  these  years  with  their  oountleM 
changes,  Thetford  Towers  had  been  a  deserted 
house.  Comparatively  speaking,  of  course;  iin, 
Weymore,  tlie  governess,  Mrs.  Hllliard,  the  house- 
keeper, Mr.  Jarvis,  the  butler,  and  their  minor  sat- 
ellites, served  there  still,  but  its  mislrcjis  and  her 
youthful  son  had  been  absent.  Only  little  May  had 
rerialned  under  Mrs.  Weymore's  charge  until  with- 
in the  last  two  years,  and  then  she,  too,  had  gone 
to  Paris  to  a  finishing  Bchoid. 

Lady  Thetford  came  herself  to  the  Towers  to 
fetch  her— the  only  time  in  these  thirteen  years 
She  had  spent  them  pleasantly  enough,  rambling 
about  the  Continent,  ami  in  her  villa  on  tho 
Amo,  for  her  health  was  frail,  and  growing  liailj 
frailer,  and  demanded  a  sunny  Southern  clime. 
The  little  baronet  had  gone  to  Eton,  thence  tu  Ox- 
ford, passing  bis  vacation  abroad  with  bis  miimma 
—and  St.  Gosport  had  seen  nothing  of  them.  Lady 
Thetford  had  thought  It  best,  for  many  reastms,  to 
leave  little  May  quietly  in  England  during  her 
wanderings.  She  missed  the  child,  but  she  had 
every  confidence  in  .Mrs.  Weymore.  The  old  aver- 
sion nad  entirely  worn  away,  but  time  had  taught 
her  she  could  trust  her  implicitly:  and  though  May 
might  miss  "  mamma  "  and  Kupert,  it  was  not  in 
that  flighty  fairy's  nature  to  take  their  absence 
very  deeply  to  heart. 

Jocyin  Hall  was  vacated,  too.  After  that  refus- 
al of  Lady  Thetford,  Col.  Jocyin  had  left  England, 
placed  his  daughter  in  a  school  abroad,  and  made 
a  tour  of  the  East. 

Laily  Thetford  he  had  not  met  untU  within  the 
last  year:  then  Lady  Thetford  and  her  son,  spend- 
ing the  winter  in  Rome,  had  encountered  Col.  and 
Miss  Jocyin,  and  they  had  scarcely  parted  com- 

fiany  since.  The  Thetfords  were  to  return  early 
n  the  rnring  to  take  up  their  abode  once  more  m 
the  old  ho-ne.  and  Col.  Jocyin  announced  his  In- 
tention of  following  their  example. 

Lady  Thetford  wrote  to  Mrs.  Weymore,  her  vice- 
roy, ami  to  her  steward,  issuing  her  orders  for  the 
expected  rciuni.    Thetford  Tiiwers  was  tobecom- 

Sleteiy  rejuvenated -new  furnished,  painted  and 
ecorated.  Landscape  gardeners  were  set  at 
work  in  the  grounds;  all  things  were  to  be  ready 
the  following  June. 

Summer  came  and  brought  the  absentees— Lady 
Thetford  and  her  son.  Col.  Jocyin  and  his  daugh- 
ter; and  there  were  bonfires  and  illuminations,  and 
feasting  of  tenantry,  and  ringing  of  bells,  and  gen- 
eral Jubilation,  that  the  heir  of  Thetford  Towers 
had  come  to  reign  at  last. 

Tbe  week  following  the  arrival.  Lady  Thetford 
issued  invitations  over  half  the  county  for  a 
grand  ball.  Thetford  Towers,  after  over  twenty 
years  of  gloom  and  solitude,  was  coming  otu 
again  in  the  old  gayety  and  brilliance  that  had  been 
its  normal  state  before  the  present  heir  was  bom. 

The  night  of  the  ball  came,  and  with  nearly  ev- 
ery one  who  had  been  honored  with  an  invitation, 
all  curious  to  see  the  future  lord  of  one  of  the  no 
blest  domain.s  in  broad  DevonshU^. 

Sir  Rupert  Thetford  stood  by  his  mother's  side, 
and  met  her  old  friends  for  the  first  time  sbice  his 
boyhood— a  slenderyoung  man.  pale  and  dark,  and 
and  handsome  of  face,  with  dreamy  slumbrous 
eyes  of  darlcness,  and  quiet  manners,  not  at  all 
like  his  father's  fair-haired,  bright-eyed,  stalwart 
Saxon  race;  the  Thetford  blood  had  rim  out,  ha 
was  his  own  mother's  son. 

Lady  Thetford,  grown  pallid  and  wan,  and 
wasted  in  all  these  years,  :md  bearing  within  the 
seeds  of  an  Incurable  disease,  looked  yet  fair  and 
gracious,  and  stately  In  her  traUing  robes  and  Jew- 
els, to-night,  receiving  her  guests  like  a  oueen.  It 
was  the  triumph  of  her  life,  the  desire  of  her  heart, 
this  seeing  her  son,  her  idol,  reigning  in  tibe  homo 
of  his  fathers,  ruler  of  the  broad  domain  that  baa 
owned  the  'Thetfords  lord  for  more  years  baok 
than  she  could  count. 


center 


Inyj 
of  u 


V     ^ 


^^m 


SIR    NOEL'S    HEIR. 


>er,  and  Lady 
St.  Oosportfor 
and  change  of 

re  of  M™.  Wey. 

iiHdonci'  fn  lier; 
I  think  1  shall 
have  dulayed 

They  were 
le  roil  Oetober 
Devon  hllln. 
be  aakl.  auftif. 

Ally  Tlmtford. 
in  Hurtn-lHv  and 
lie  unsweretfj 
K>  cunttdtint  as 
I.  Jixylii  asked 


never  thought 


irdf" 

ni-vi>r  thought 
1  Mill  wish  to 
Hi  I  am  to-day 

iiy  whole  heart 
"'.  Let  us  be 
r  white  Jew- 

can  ever  be  to 


9 


hirteen  passed 
'teir  couutlea* 

II  a  deserted 
course:  Mrs. 
iril.  the  house- 
liiir  minor  sat- 
is! reus  ami  her 

little  May  had 
irge  uu  til  with- 
too,  had  gone 

;he  Towers  to 
thirteen  years 
luifh,  ruDihlIng 
villa  (in  the 
gTi.winx  daily 
lutliern  clime. 
.  thence  to  Ox- 
ih  his  mamma 
of  them.  Lady 
iny  reasons,  to 
ad  during  her 
,  but  she  had 
The  old  ttver- 
me  had  taught 

fid  though  May 
It  was  not  In 
their  absence 

fter  that  refus- 
1  left  England, 
uad,  and  made 

ntU  within  the 
ler  son,  spend- 
tered  Col.  and 
r  parted  com- 
I  return  early 
once  more  in 
lunued  his  in- 

nore.  her  vice- 
orders  for  the 
vas  tobecoii> 
,  painted  and 
were  set  at 
i  to  be  ready 

lentees-Ladj 
3d  his  diiugh- 
linations.  and 
Sells,  and  gen- 
tford  Towers 

ady  Thet^ord 
ounty  for  a 
over  twenty 
coming  oat 
that  had  been 
eir  was  bom. 
th  nearly  ev- 
in  Invitation, 
ine  of  the  no- 

iother'8  side, 
ime  since  his 
»nd  dark,  and 
ly  slumtirous 
rs,  not  at  all 
yet\.  stalwart 
1  run  out,  he 

d  wan,  and 
ig  within  the 
yet  fair  and 
ibes  and  jew- 
:  a  uueen.  It 
of  her  heart, 
in  the  borne 
ain  that  baa 
:  yeara  back 


"  If  I  oould  .mt  see  her  his  wife,"  Lady  Thetford 
thought,  "I  think  I  should  have  notbiog  left  on 
earth  to  desire."  I 

Hhe  glunci>d  across  the  wide  room,  along  a  vista 
of  llgliis,  and  flitting  forms,  and  rich  dresses,  and  ' 
sparkling  Jewels,  to  where  a  young  lady  stcKsl,  the  , 
center  of  an  anlmat^Hl  group—a  tall  and  eminently  ' 
handsome  girl,  with  u  pmuii  patrician  faci-,  and  ,' 
the  <3ourtly  gra'je  of  a  young  empress ~Aile«'n  .Jo-  j 
cyln,  heiress  of  fabulous  wealth,  possessor  of  fab- 
ulous beauty,  and  descendant  of  a  race  as  noble  , 


ami  as  antdent  as  his  own 

"  With  her  for  his  wife,  come  what  niluht  in  the  | 
future,  my  Kupert  would   be  safe."  the  mother  i 
thought;     and  who  knows  what  a  day  niay  bring 
forth  y    Ahl  If  i  dared  only  speak,  but  I  dare  not;  | 
It  would  ruin  all.     I  know  my  son." 

Yes,  Lady  Thetford  knew  her  sim.  understniMl . 
bis  character  thoroughly,  and  was  a  great  deal  too 
wary  a  conspirator  to  let  him  see  her  cards.     Fate,  | 
notshe,  liadtlirown  the  heiress  and  the  baronet  con- 1 
Btantly  together  of  late,  and  Alleen's  own  beauty 
and  grace  was  surely  sufllcient  for  the  rest.    It 
was  the  one  desire  of  Lady  Thel ford's  heart;  but 
•he  never  said  so  to  her  son,  who  loved  her  dearly, 
and  would  have  d<ine  'i  great  deal  to  add  to  her 
happiness.    She  left  It  to  fate,  and  leaving  It,  was 
doing  the  wisest  thing  she  could  possibly  do.  I 

It  seemed  us  if  b»'r  liopes  were  likely  to  be  real- 1 
lied.    Sir  Kupert  had  an  artist's  and  a  Sybarite's  | 
love  for  ail  things  beautiful,  and  couM  appreciate  ' 
the  grand  statuesque  style  of  Miss. locylns  beauty,  j 
even  as  his  mother  could  not  appreciate  it.     iShc  ^ 
was  like  till-  Pallas  Athine,  she  was  his  ideal  wo-  i 
man,  fair  and  proud,  upiiftiHl  and  serene,  smiling  | 
on  all,  from  the  heights  of  high-and-mightv-dom, 
but   sbiuing  upon  them,  u  brilliant  far-off  star, 
keeping  her  wannlh  and  sweetness  all  for  him. 
He  was  an  indolent,  dreamy  Sybarite,  this  p«l>) 
young  han>net,  who  liked  his  rose-leaves  unrunle<i 
under  him,  full  of  artUtiu  tastes  and  ln.spirations, 
and  a  great  deal  tix)  lazy  ever  to  carry  tuem  into 
effect.    He  was  an  artist,  and  he  had  a  studio 
where  he  begitn  fifty  gigantic  deeds  at  once  in  the 
way  of  picturwi,  and  seldom  finished  one.    Nature 
hail  intended  him  for  an  artist,  not  a  country 
squire;  he  oanxl  little  for  riding,  or  hunting,  or 
fishing,  or  farming,  or  any  of  the  things  wherein 
country  squires  delight;  he  liked  better  to  lie  on 
the  warm  grass,  with  the  summer  wind  stirring  in 
the  trees  over  his  head,  and  smoke  his  Turkish 
pipe,  and  dream  the  lazy  hours  away.    If  be  hud 
Deen  born  a  poor  man  he  might  have  been  a  great 
painter;  as  it  was,  be  was  only  an  idle,  listless,  ele- 
gant, languid  dreamer,  and  so  likely  to  remain 
until  the  end  of  the  chapter. 

Lady  Thetford's  ball  was  a  very  brilliant  affair, 
and  a  famous  success.  Until  far  into  the  gray  and 
dhimal  dawn.  "  Bute,  violin,  bassoon,  "  woke  sweet 
echoes  in  the  once  ghastly  rooms,  so  long  silence 
had  reigned.  Half  the  county  had  iieen  invited, 
and  hulf  the  county  were  there:  and  hosts  of  pret- 
ty, rosy  girls,  in  aroophane  and  rose**,  and  spark- 
ling Jewelry,  baited  ttieir  dainty  traps,  and  "  wove 
becks  and  nods,  and  wreathed  smiles,"  for  the 
special  delectation  of  the  handsome  courtly  heir 
of  Thetford  Towers. 

But  the  heir  of  Thetford  Towers,  with  gracious 
greetings  for  all,  yet  walked  through  tnc  rose- 
(itrewn  jilifails  all  secure,  whilst  the  starry  face  of 
.^leen  Jocyln  shone  on  him  In  Its  pale,  high-bred 
beauty.  He  hod  not  danced  much;  he  had  an  an- 
tipathy to  dancing  as  he  had  to  exertion  of  any 
kind,  and  presently  he  stood  leaning  against  a  slen- 
der white  colum,  watching  her  in  a  .state  of  lazy  ad- 
miration. He  could  see  quite  as  clearly  as  his 
mother  how  enUneutly  proper  a  marriage  with  the 
heiress  of  Col.  Jocyln  would  be;  he  knew  by  In- 
Btir  t,  too.  how  much  she  desired  it;  and  it  was 
r.  >y  enough,  looking  at  herin  her  girlish  pride  and 
beauty,  to  fancy  himself  very  much  in  love,  and 
though  anything  but  a  coxcomb,  sir  Kupert  Thet- 
ford was  perfectly  aware  of  bis  own  nandsomo 
face  and  dreamy  artist's  eyes,  and  bis  fiitcen 
thousand  a  year,  and  lengthy  pedigree,  and  had  a 
bazy  idea  that  the  handsome  Aileen  would  not  say 
00  when  he  spoke. 

"  And  I'll  speak  to-night,  by  Jove!"  thought  the 
poung  baronet,  as  near  being  enthusiastic  as  was 
nls  nature,  as  he  watched  her,  the  brilliant  center 
of  a  MUiant  group.  "  How  exquisite  she  is  in  her 
statuesque  grace,  my  peerless  Aileen,  the  ideal  of 
my  dreams.  I'll  ask  her  to  be  my  wife  to-night,  or 
that  Inconceivable  idiot,  Lord  Oilbert  Penryhn.will 
do  it  to-morrow." 

He  sauntered  over  to  the  group,  not  at  all  In- 1 
sensible  to  the  quick,  bright  smile  and  flitting  flush  | 
with  which  Miss  Jocyln  welcomed  him. 

"  I  believe  this  waltz  is  mine.  Miss  Jocyln.  Very  i 
Borry  to  break  upon  your  Ute-a-Utr.  IVnryhn,  but  j 
necessity  knows  no  law.'* 

A  moment  and  they  were  floating  down  the 
whirling  tide  of  the  dance,  with  the  wild,  melan- 
choly waltz  music  swelling  and  sounding,  and 
Miss  Jocyln's  perfumed  htilr  breathing  fragrance 
around  him,  and  the  starry  face  and  dark,  dewy 
eyes  downi'ast  a  little,  in  a  happy  tremor.  The 
oold,  still  look  of  fixed  pride  seemed  to  melt  out  of 
her  face,  and  an  exquisite  rosy  light  came  and  went 
In  its  place,  and  made  her  too  lovely  to  tell:  and 
Sir  Rupert  saw  and  understood  it  all,  with  a  little 
complacent  thrill  of  satisfaction. 

They  floated  out  of  the  ball-room  into  a  con- 
servatory of  exquisite  blossom. where  tropic  plants 
of  gorgeous  hues,  and  phishing  fountains,  under 
the  wQlte  light  of  alahaster  lamps,  made  a  sort  of 
garden  of  Eden.  There  were  orange  and  myrtle 
trees  oppresslns  the  warm  air  with  their  sweet- 


ness, and  through  the  open  FVench  windows  came 
the  soft,  misty  moonlight  and  the  saline  wind. 
There  they  stoppe*!,  liMiklngout  at  the  'lale  glory 
of  the  nlghr.  and  there  Sir  Kupert,  about  to  ask  the 
supreme  question  of  his  life,  and  with  his  heart  be- 
ginning to  plunge  against  his  side,  opened  conver- 
sulion  with  the  usual  brilliancy  in  such  cases. 

"You  look  fatigue<l.  Miss  Jocyln.  These  grand 
balls  are  great  bores,  after  all." 

Hiss  JiH:yln  laughed  frankly  She  was  of  a  na- 
ture (ar  more  iinpassiiined  than  his,  anil  she  loved 
him;  iind  she  felt  thrilling  through  every  nene  In 
her  hoily  the  prescience  of  wliat  he  was  going  to 
Nay;  liul,  for  all  that,  being  a  woman,  she  had  the 
best  of  it  now. 

"  1  am  not  at  all  fatlgue<i,"  she  said;  "  and  I  like 
It.  I  don't  think  balls  are  bores— like  this,  I  mean; 
but  then,  to  be  sure,  my  eiiierleuce  Is  very  limited. 
How  lovely  the  night  Is!  Look  at  the  moonlight, 
yondi-r,  on  the  sea- a  sheet  of  silvery  glory.  IJoes 
It  not  recall  Sorrento  and  the  exquisite  Sorrentlne 
lands<:aiie— that  mi.'onljght  on  the  sea?  Are  you 
not  insplrixl,  sir  artist  t" 

She  lifted  a  flitting,  radiant  glance,  a  luminous 
smile,  anil  »hen  the  star-like  face  droopeti  again— 
and  the  while  hands  took  to  reckless  breaking  off 
sweet  sprays  of  myrtle. 

"  .My  inspiration  Is  nearer,"  Uioklng  down  at  the 

drooping  face.  "  Aileen "  and  there  ho  stopped, 

and  the  sentence  was  never  destined  to  be  finished, 
fi  >r  a  shadow  darkened  tlie  moonlight,  and  a  figure 
flUtitii  in  like  a  spirit  and  stooil  nefore  them— a 
fairy  figure,  in  a  cloud  of  rosy  drapery,  with  shim- 
inenng  golden  curls  and  dancing  eyes  of  turquoise 
blue. 

Aileen  Jocyln  started  back  and  away  from  her 
companion,  with  a  faint,  thrilling  cry.  Sir  Kupert, 
wondering  and  annoyed,  stood  staring;  and  still 
the  fairy  figure  in  the  rosy  gauze  stood,  like  a 
nymph  In  a  stage  talileuu,  smiling  uii  In  their  faces 
and  iK^vcr  speaking.  There  was  a  niauk  pause,  a 
moment's;  then  Miss  Jocyln  made  one  step  for- 
ward, doubt,  recognition,  delight,  all  In  her  face  at 
once. 

"  It  I"— it  la!"  she  cried,  "  May  Everard!" 

"May  Everardl"  sir  Kupert  echoed— " little 
May!" 

"At  your  service,  motutitur.'  To  think  you 
sboiUd  have  forgotten  me  so  completely  In  a  de- 
cade of  years.    For  shame.  Sir  Kupert  Thetford!" 

And  then  she  was  in  Aileen  Jocyln's  arms,  and 
there  was  an  hiatus  filled  up  with  kisses. 

"  Oh!  what  a  surprise!"  Miss  Jocyln  cried  breath- 
lessly. "Have  you  dropped  from  the  skiesf  I 
thought  you  were  In  France." 

May  Everard  laughed,  the  calm,  bright  laugh  of 
thirteen  years  ago,  as  she  held  up  her  dimpled 
cheeks,  first  one  ami  •>"■".  '.lie  other,  to  Sir  Kupert. 

"Uld  youf    So  I  was,  but  I  run  away." 

"  Kan  away!    J'roni  schooK" 

"  Something  very  like  it.  OhI  how  stupid  It  was, 
and  I  couldn  t  endure  it  any  longer:  and  I  am  so 
crammed  with  knowledge  now  that  If  1  held  any 
more  I  should  burst;  and  so  I  told  them  I  had  to 
come  home;  but  I  was  sent  for.which  was  true,  you 
know,  for  I  felt  an  Inward  call;  and  as  they  were 
glad  to  be  rid  of  me,  they  didn't  make  much  oppo- 
sition or  ask  unnecessary  questions.  And  so," 
folding  the  fairy  hands  and  nodding  her  little  rlng- 
letwl  head,  "here  I  am." 

"  But,  good  heavens!"  cried  Sir  Hupert,  aghast, 
"you  never  mean  to  say.  May,  you  have  come 
alone  I" 

"  .\11  olone,"  said  May,  with  another  nod.  "  I'm 
used  to  it,  you  know;  did  it  last  vacation.  Came 
across  anti  spent  it  with  Mrs.  W'evmore.  I  don't 
mind  it  the  least;  don't  know  what  sea-sickness  is; 
and  ohI  didn't  some  of  the  poor  wretches  suffer 
this  timel  Isn't  it  fortunate  I'm  here  for  the  ball  t 
And,  Kupert,  good  graclousl  how  you've  grown!" 

"  Thanks.  I  can't  see  that  you  have  changed 
much.  Miss  Everard.  Y'ou  are  the  same  curly- 
headed,  saucy  fairy  I  knew  thirteen  years  ago. 
What  does  my  lady  say  to  this  escapade  l-" 

"  Nothing.  Eloquent  silence  best  expresses  her 
feelings;  and  then  she  hadn't  time  to  make  a  scene. 
Are  you  going  to  ask  me  to  dance.  Kupert  1  because 
if  you  are."  said  Miss  Everard,  adjusting  her  brace- 
let, "you  had  better  do  It  ut  once,  as  I  am  going 
back  to  the  ball-room,  and  after  I  once  appear 
there  you  will  stand  no  chance  amongst  the 
crowd  of  competitors.  But  then,  perhaps  ycm  be- 
long to  Miss  Jocyln  i" 

"Not  at  all,"  Miss  Jocyln  Interposed,  hastily, 
and  reddening  a  little;  "  I  am  engaged,  and  it  Is 
time  1  was  back,  or  my  unlucky  cavalier  will  be  at 
his  wit's  end  to  find  me." 

She  swept  away  with  a  quicker  movement  than 
her  wont,  and  Sir  Kupert  laughingly  gave  his 
piquant  little  partner  his  arm.  His  notions  of 
propriety  were  a  good  deal  shocked;  but  then 
it  was  only  May  Everard,  and  May  Everard  was 
tine  (if  those  exceptionable  people  who  can  do 
pretty  much  as  they  please,  and  not  surprise  any 
(me.  They  went  back  to  the  ball-room,  the  fairy 
in  pink  on  the  arm  of  the  young  baronet,  chatter- 
ing like  a  magpie.  Miss  Jocyln's  partner  found 
her  and  led  her  off;  but  Miss  Jocyln  was  very  silent 
and  distrait  all  the  rest  of  the  night,  and  watched 
furtively,  but  incessantly,  the  fluttering  pink  fairy. 
She  liad  reigned  belle  hitherto,  but  spai-kiing  little 
May,  like  an  embodied  sunbeam,  electrified  the 
rooms,  and  took  the  crown  and  the  sceptre  by 
royal  right.  Sir  Rupert  had  that  one  dance,  and 
no  more— Miss  Everard's  own  prophecy  was  tru(3 — 
the  demand  for  her  was  such  that  even  the  son  of 
the  house  stood  not  the  shadow  of  a  chance. 

Miss  Jocyln  held  herself  aloof  from  the  young 


baronet  for  the  remaining  houm  of  the  ball.  8be 
had  known  as  well  as  he  the  woriis  that  were  on 
his  lips  when  May  Everanl  Inleriiosed,  and  ITer 
eyes  flashed  and  her  dark  cheek  flushed  dusky  red 
to  see  how  easily  he  hud  been  detirred  from  his 
IMii'pose,  For  him.  he  sought  her  once  or  twice  til 
a  desultory  sort  of  way,  never  noticing  that  he 
was  purposely  avoliliMl,  wandering  contentedly 
liack  to  devote  himself  to  some  ime  else,  and  in 
the  pauses  to  watch  May  Everard  floating— a  sun- 
b<!am  In  a  rosy  cloud— here  and  there  and  erery- 
where. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

OUT  LEUARn. 

"  Hit  meant  to  have  spoken  that  nighl;  he  would 
have  spoken  but  for  May  Everard.  And  yet  that  Is 
two  weeks  ago,  and  we  nave  been  together  since, 
and — " 

.\Ueen  Jocyln  broke  <iff  abruptly,  and  looked  out 
over  the  far-spreading,  gray  sea. 

The  morning  was  ilull.  the  leaden  sky  threaten- 
ing rain,  tlie  wind  sighing  fitfully,  and  the  slow, 
gray  sea  creeping  up  the  gray  sands.  Aileen 
Jocyln  sat  as  she  had  sat  since  breakfast,  aimless 
and  dreary,  by  her  dressing-room  window,  gozinc 
blankly  over  the  pale  landseape,  her  hair  falling 
loose  and  damp  over  her  shoulders,  and  a  novel 
lying  listlessly  in  her  lap.  The  liook  had  no  Inter- 
est; her  thoughts  would  stray,  in  spite  of  her,  to 
Thetford  Towers. 
'She   is 


very  pretty, 
'with  that  pink  an  '     " 


-  , .  Miss  Jocvln  , ..ought, 
nd  whiti!  wax-doll  sort  of  prcttl- 
ness  some  people  admire.  I  never  thought  A« 
could,  with  his  artistic  nature;  but  1  suppose  I  was 
mistaken.  They  call  her  fascinating;  I  believe 
that  rather  hoideuish  manner  of  Iters,  and  all 
tho.se  dashing  «'rs,  and  that  'loud'  style  of  dress 
and  doings,  take  some  men  by  storm.  I  presume  I 
was  mistaken  In  Sir  Kupert:  Idare  sav  pretty, peu- 
nlless  .May  will  be  LaiiyThetford  before  long." 

.Miss  Jocyln's  short  upper-lip  curled  rather  scorn- 
fully, and  she  rose  up  with  a  little  air  of  petulance 
and  walked  across  the  room  to  thi^  opposite  win- 
dow. Itconiinandeil  a  view  of  the  lawn  and  a  long 
wooded  drive,  and,  cantering  airily  up  under  the 
waving  trees,  she  saw  the  young  lailv  of  whom  she 
had  been  thinking.  The  pretty,  fieet-footed  pony 
and  his  liright  little  mistress  were  by  no  means 
rare  visitors  ut  Jocyln  Hall,  and  Miss  Jocyln  was 
always  elaborately  civil  to  Miss  Everard.  Very 
pretty  little  May  looked— all  her  tinseled  curb 
floating  In  the  breeze,  like  a  golden  banner:  the 
blue  eyes  mon^  starlly  radiant  tlian  ever,  the  dart 
riiliiig-liabit  and  Jaunty  bat  and  plume  the  most 
liicoming  things  In  the  world.  She  saw  Mbs  Joelyn 
at  the  window,  kissed  her  hand  and  resigned  .Arab 
to  the  groom.  A  minute  more  and  she  was  sulutinir 
Aileen  with  effusion. 

"You  solemn  AUeenI  to  sit  and  mope  here  in 
the  house,  instead  of  impro\1ng  your  health  and 
temper  by  a  breezy  canter  over  the  downs.  Don't 
contradict;  I  know  you  were  moping.  I  should  be 
afraid  to  tell  you  how  many  miles  Arab  and  I  have 
got  over  tills  moniing.  And  you  never  came  to  see 
mo  yesterday,  either.    Why  was  it »" 

"I  didn't  feel  inclined,'' Miss  Jocyln  answered, 
tnithfully. 

"No,  you  never  do  feel  incline;!  unless  I  come 
and  drag  you  out  by  force;  you  sit  in  the  house 
and  grow  yellow  and  Jaundiced  over  high-churcU 
novels.    I  declare  I  never  met  so  many  lazy  people 
in  all  my  life  as  I  have  done  since  I  came  home. 
One  don't  mind  mamma,  poor  thing!  shutting  her- 
self up  and  the  sunshine  and  fresh  air  of  heaven 
out;  but,  for  you  and  Kupert!    And,  speaking  of 
Kupert,"  ran  on  .Miss  Everard  in  a  breathless  sort 
of  way,  "be  wanted  to  commence  his  great  picture 
of  '  Fair  Hosamond  and  Eleanor '  yesterday— and 
how  could  he  when  Eleanor  never  cumef    Why 
didn't  you— you  promised  i" 
"I  changed  my  mind,  1  suppose." 
"  And  broke  your  word— more  shame  for  you, 
thenl    Come  now." 
"  No;  thanks.    It's  going  to  rain." 
"  Nothing  of  the  sort;  and  Kupert  la  (to  anxious. 
He  would  nave  come  himself,  only  my  lady  Is  ill 
to-day  with  one  of  her  bad  headaches,  anil  asked 
him  to  read  her  to  sleep;  and.  like  the  good  boy 
that  he  is  in  the  main,  tbinigl:  shockingly  lazy,  ho 
obeyed.    Do  come,  Aileen;  tliere's  a  dear!    Don't 
be  selfish." 
Miss  Jocyln  rose  rather  abruptly. 
"  I  have  no  desire  to  be  selflsh,  Miss  Everard. 
If  you  will  wait  ten  minutes  whilst  I  dress,  I  will 
accompany  you  to  Thetford  Towers." 

She  rang  the  bill  and  swept  from  the  room, 
stately  and  uplifted.  May  looked  after  her,  fidget- 
ing a  little. 

"  Dear  me!  I  pupptie  she's  offended  now  at  that 
word  'selfish.'  I  never  i/irf  get  on  very  weU  with 
Aileen  Jocyln.  and  I'm  afraid  I  never  shall.  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  she  were  Jealous." 

Miss  Everard  laughed  a  little  silvery  laugh  all  to 
herself,  and  slapped  her  kid  riding-boot  with  her 
pretty  toy  whip. 

"  I  hope  I  didn't  interrupt  a  tender  declarution 
that  night  in  the  conservatory,  but  it  looked  like 
it.  If  I  did,  I  am  sure  Kupert  has  had  fifty  chances 
since,  and  I  know  he  hasn't  availed  himself  of 
them,  or  Aileen  would  never  wear  that  dissatisfied 
face.  I  know  she's  in  love  .with  Aim,  though,  to  be 
sure,  she  would  see  me  impaled  with  the  greatest 
pleasure  if  she  only  thought  I  suspected  it;  but  I'm 
not  so  certain  about  him.  He's  a  great  deal  too 
indolent  in  the  first  pla<^,  to  get  ^>  a  grand  pas- 
sion for  anybody,  and  I  toink  he's  inclined  to  look 


17  '^'"*' 


10 


SIK    NOEL'S    HEIR. 


oraolouBly  on  me— poor  little  me— In  tlin  si>ron'l.  | 
Tou  may  spare  yourself  the  trouble,  my  diar  Mr  | 
Rupert;  for  .i  ffcntlemp.n  whoHw  chief  aim  in  <  xist- 
enoe  is  to  smnke  Turkish  pipes  and  Me  on  tin"  ^-ras;  I 
and  write  and  read  poetry  is  not  at  all  the  sort  cf 
man  I  mean  to  hiess  for  life," 

The  two  plrls  descendeci  to  the  court-yard, 
mounted  ami  rode  off.  Both  rode  well,  and  both 
looked  their  licst  on  horseback,  and  made  a  won- 
derfully pretty  picture  as  they  palioped  through 
St.  (Josport  In  dashing  style,  linnt'lns  the  admiring; 
population  in  a  rush  to  doors  ami  windows.  Per- 
naps  sir  Uupcrt  Thetford  ttioutiht  iso,  too,  as  he 
ptood  at  the  t^eat  front  cntrimce  to  receive  tiiera, 
with  a  lilndling  liifht  in  his  artist's  eyes. 

"  May  said  slie  would  fetch  you,  and  May 
always  keeps  her  word,"  he  Hai<i.  as  he  walked 
slowly  up  the  sweiplnff  staircase;  "  liosiiies,  Aileen, 
I  am  to  hav)*  the  first  sitting  for  the  '  liosaniond 
and  Kleancir' to-day,  ami  uotf  May  calls  mo  an 
Idle  dreamer,  a  useless  drone  in  the  busy  human 
hive;  so,  to  vindicate  ray  character  and  cleave  a 
niche  in  the  temple  of  fame,  I  am  fjoini:  to  imraor- 
talize  niy.self  over  this  paintinir." 

"You'll  never  (intsh  it."  said  May;  "It  will  he 
like  all  the  rest.  You'll  lieiiin  on  a  KlKuntio  scale 
and  with  superhuman  efforts,  and  y<m'll  cool  down 
and  Rct  sick  of  it  before  it  is  half  finished,  and  it 
will  »fr>  to  swell  tin?  pile  of  daubed  canvas  in  your 
Studio  now.    Don't  tell  me!    I  know  you." 

"  And  have  the  poorest  possible  opinion  of  me. 
Miss  Kverardf" 

"  Y'es.  I  havel  I  have  no  patience  when  I  think 
what  you  micht  do,  wliat  you  misht  become,  and 
BBO  what  you  are!  If  you  were  not  Sir  Uupert 
Thv'ford.wilh  a  princely  income,  you  mlRht  bo  a 
great  man.    As  It  Is " 

"As  it  is!"  cried  the  younir  baronet,  tryini.'  to 
laush  and  reddening  viohntly,  "1  will  still  be  a 
great  man— a  morlern  Murillo.  Are  yo\i  not  a  little 
severe,  ?"  is  Everard  >  Aileen.  I  believe  this  is  your 
first  visit  to  my  studio  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Joeyln.  eoldly  and  briefly.  She 
did  not  like  the  conversation,  and  May  Everard's 
familiar  home-truths  stuiiK  her.  To  her  he  was 
everyihint;  mortal  man  should  be;  she  was  proud, 
but  she  was  ni^t  amt)i[ious;  what  right  had  this 
penniless  little  free-speaker  to  come  between  them 
and  talk  like  this! 

May  was  Hitting  about  like  the  fairy  she  was,  her 
head  n  little  on  one  side,  like  a  critical  canary,  her 
flowlnjf  skirt  held  up.  Inspecting  the  pictures. 

"'Jcannie  D'Arc   Ix'fore   her  . I udges,' half  fin- 
ished, as  usual,  aiu'  never  to  he  completed;  and 
weak — very,  it  it  ever  was  completed.    *  Itatlle  of 
Bosworth  Field,'  In  flaming  colors,  all  confusion 
and  smoke  and  red  ochre  and  rubbish;  you  diil 
well  not  to  trouble  yourself  any  more  with  that.  ! 
'Swiss  Peasant'— ah!  that  is  pretty,    'storm  at! 
Bea,"  just  tolerabh'.    'Trial  of  Mario  Antoinette.'  i 
My  (U'ar  Hupert,  why  will  you  persist  in  these  fig- 
ure paintings  whi'U  you  know  your  forto  is  land- 
Boapef    'An  Evening  in  tiie  ICternal  City.'    Now,  1 
that  is  what  I  call  an  exiiuislto  little  thlngl    J.ook 
at  the  moon,  Aileen,  rising  over  those  hill-tops; 
and  see  those  trees— yijii  can  almost  feel  the  wind 
that  biowsl    Anil  that  prostrate  figure— why,  that 
looks  like  yourself,  Hupert!" 

"  It  is  myself." 

"And  the  other,  stooping— who  is  ho?" 

"The  painter  of  that  picttu'e.  Miss  Everard;  yes, 
the  only  thing  in  my  poor  studio  you  nee  fit  to 
eulogize  is  not  mine.  It  was  done  by  an  artist 
friend— an  unknown  Englishman,  who  saved  my 
life  in  Rome  tliree  years  ago.  Comi?  in,  mother, 
mine,  and  defend  your  son  from  the  two-edged 
eword  of  May  Everard's  ttmgue." 

For  Lady  Thetforil.  pale  and  languid,  appeared 
on  the  threshold,  wrappeil  In  a  shawl. 

"  It's  all  for  his  '.-ood.  mamma.  Come  here  and 
look  at  tills  '  Evening  in  the  Eternal  City.'  Uupert 
has  nothing  like  it  in  all  his  collection,  Ihmgh 
these  .".re  tne  beginning  of  many  better  tilings. 
He  saved  your  life  f    How  was  it  f  " 

"Oh!  a  little  affair  with  brigands;  nothing  very 
thrilling,  but  i  should  have  been  killed  or  captured 
ail  the  same^  if  this  Legard  had  not  come  to  the 
rescue.  May  is  right  about  the  picture*  he  painted 
well,  had  eoinoto  Home  to  perfect  himself  in  his 
art.    Very  fine  fellow,  Eegard." 

"Legard!" 

It  was  Lady  Thetford  who  bad  spoken  sharply  I 
and  suddenly.    She  had  put  up  her  glas.i  to  look  at 
the  Italian  iitcturc,  tint  dropped  it,  and  faced  ab- 
ruptly round.  I 
Yes,  Legard.    (luy  Legard,  a  young  Engiisli- ' 
man,  aliout  my  own  age.    By-the-bye,  If  you  saw  : 
him,  you  would  be  surprised  by  his  singular  resem- 
blance to  some  of  those  dead  and  gone  Thetfords  > 
banging  over  tli.Te    in    the   picture-gallery— fair  i 
hair,  iilue  eyes,  ami  the  same  peculiar  cast  of  feat- 
ures to  a  shade.    I  was  rather  taken  aback,  I  eon-  [ 
fess,  wlien  1  saw  it  first.    .My  dear  mother " 

It  was  nut  a  cry  Lady  Thetford  had  uttered— it 
was  a  kind  of  wordless  soli,  He  soon  caught  her 
In  his  arms  anil  held  her  there,  her  face  t  lie  color 
of  death. 

"Oct  a  glass  of  water.  May-she  is  subject  to 
these  attacks,    ijuick!" 

Lady  Thetford  drank  the  water,  and  sunk  back 
In  the  chair  Aileen  wheeled  up,  her  face  looking 
awfully  c  irpsellke  In  contrast  to  her  dark  gar- 
ments and  dead  black  hair. 

"  You  should  not  have  left  your  room,"  said  Sir 
Rupert,  "  after  your  attack  this  morning.  Perhaps 
you  had  better  return  and  lie  down.  You  look 
parfactly  ghastly." 

*  Nu,''  bis  tnuthur  aat  up  as  she  spoke  and  pushed 


'iway  the  fflass,  "there  Is  no  necessity  for  lying 
down.  Don't  wear  that  scared  face,  May— It  was 
nothing,  I  assure  you,  (xo  on  with  what  you  were 
saying,  Kupert," 

"What  I  was  sa^  -.gf    What  was  itf" 

"About  this  yo  .  g  artist's  resemblance  to  the 
Thetfords." 

"  Ohl  well,  there's  no  more  to  say;  that  Is  all, 
lie  saved  my  life  and  he  painted  that  picture,  and 
we  were  Damon  and  Pythias  over  again  during 
my  stay  in  Home,  I  always  ilo  fraternize  with 
those  sort  of  fellows,  you  know;  aiid  I  left  him  In 
Home,  and  ho  promised,  if  he  ever  returned  to 
England— wdiich  he  wasn't  so  sure  of— ho  would 
rundown  to  De\onahire  to  see  aie  and  my  painted 
ancestors,  whom  he  resembles  so  strongly.  That 
is  all;  and  now,  young  ladies.  If  you  will  take  your 
places  we  will  comiheneo  on  the  Rosamond  and 

f^leanor.     --    '         "■  ■         " 

want  t 

But  Lady 
and  her  son  gave  her  his  arm  thither  and  left  her 
lying  back  amongst  her  cushions  in  front  of  the 
fire.  It  was  always  chilly  in  those  great  and  some- 
what gloomy  rooms,  and  her  l.idysnip  was  always 
cold  of  late.  She  lay  there  looking  with  gloomy 
eyes  into  the  ruddy  blaze,  and  holding  her  bands 
over  her  painfully  beating  heart, 

"  It  is  destiny,  I  suppose,"  she  thought,  bitterly; 
"let  me  banish  him  to  the  farthest  end  of  the 
earth;  let  mo  keep  him  In  poverty  and  obscurity 
all  his  life,  and  when  the  day  comes  that  it  is  writ- 
ten. Guy  Legard  will  be  here.  Sooner  or  later  the 
vow  I  have  broken  to  Sir  Noel  Thetford  must  be 
kept;  soouer  or  later  Sir  Noel's  heir  will  have  his 
own." 


i  we  win  coiniuencu  on  iiio  jvosaiiionu  ana 
or.    Mother,  sit  hero  by  tills  window  If  you 
to  play  propriety,  and  don't  talk." 
Lady 'Thetford  chose  to  go  to  her  own  room, 


CHAPTUU  X. 

ABKINO  IX   HAnniAOE. 

A  PiHE  burned  In  Lady  Thetford's  room,  and 
among  piles  <if  silken  pillows  my  lady,  languid  and 
Tiale,  lay,  looking  Into  the  leaping  flame.  It  was  a 
not  July  morning,  the  sun  blazed  like  a  wheel  of 
fire  in  a  sky  witliout  a  cloud,  hut  Lady  Thetford 
was  always  chilly  of  late.  She  drew  the  crimson 
shawl  she  wore  closer  around  her,  and  glanced  im- 
patiently now  and  then  at  the  nretty  toy  clock  on 
the  decorated  chimney-pleco.  'i'he  house  was  very 
still;  its  one  disturbing  element,  Miss  Everard,  was 
absent  with  Sir  Dnpert  for  a  morning  canter  over 
the  sunny  De\rnlj'lls 

"Uow  long  they  stay,  and  these  solitary  rides 
are  so  dangeroilfll  Oh!  what  will  become  of  me 
if  it  is  too  late,  after  alll  What  shall  I  do  if  ho 
says  no?" 

There  was  a  tiuiek  man's  step  without— a  mo- 
ment and  iho  door  opened,  and  Sir  Uupert, 
"  booted  and  spurred  "  from  his  ride,  was  bending 
over  his  mother. 

"  Louise  says  you  sent  for  me  after  I  left.  What 
Is  it,  mother — you  are  not  worse  ?" 

He  knelt  beside  her.  Lady  Thetford  put  back 
the  fair  brown  hair  with  tenner  touch,  and  gazed 
in  the  handsome  face,  so  like  her  own,  with  eyes 
full  of  unspeakable  love. 

"My  boyl  my  boyl "  she  m'jrmured,  "  my  darling 
Rupert!  Ohl  it  in  hard,  it  U  bitter  to  have  to  leave 
youl" 

"  Mother!"  with  a  quick  loc'.:  m  alarm,  "  what  is 
it?    Are  you  worse?" 

"  No  worse,  Uupert;  but  no  better.  My  boy,  I 
shall  never  bo  better  again  In  this  world." 

"Mother ' 

"Hush,  my  Rupert- wait ;  you  know  it  is  true; 
and  but  for  leaving  you  I  should  bo  glad  to  go. 
My  life  has  not  been  so  happy  since  your  father 
died,  that  I  should  greatly  cling  to  it," 

"But.  mother,  this  won't  do;  these  morbid  fan- 
cies are  worst  of  all.  Keeping  up  one's  spirits  is 
half  the  battle," 

"  I  am  not  morbid;  I  merely  state  a  fact— a  fact 
which  must  preface  what  is   .o  come.    Rupert,  I 
know  I  am  dying,  and  before  we  part  I  want  to  see 
my  8Uc<!es8or  at  Thetford  Towers." 
My  dear  motlR.'!"  aninzedly. 

"  Uupert,  I  want  to  see  Aiieen  Jooyln  your  wife. 
No,  no;  don't  interrupt  me,  ut  believe  me,  I  dis- 
like match-making  quite  as  cordially  as  you  do; 
but  my  days  on  earth  are  numbered,  and  I  must 
speak  before  it  is  too  late.  When  we  were  abroad 
I  thought  there  never  would  be  occasion;  when 
we  returned  home  I  thought  so,  too.  Uupert,  I 
have  ceased  to  think  so  slnoe  May  Everard's  re- 
turn." 

The  young  man's  faco  flushed  suddenly  and  hot- 
ly, but  lie  made  no  reply. 

How  any  man  in  his  senses  could  possibly  pre- 
fer May  to  Aileen,lsamysieryIcannot  solve;  but 
then  these  things  puzzle  the  wisest  of  us  at  times. 
Mind,  my  boy,  I  don't  really  say  you  do  prefer 
May  -I  should  be  very  unhappy  If  I  thought  so.  I 
know— 1  am  certain  you  love  Aileen  best;  and  I 
am  eimaliy  certain  she  is  a  thousand  times  better 
suited  to  you.  Then,  as  a  man  of  honor,  you  owe 
it  to  her.  You  have  paid  Miss, locylii  such  atten- 
tions as  no  hcnorablo  gentleman  slioiild  pay  any 
lady,  save  the  one  he  means  to  make  liis  wife," 

Lady  Thetford's  son  rose  abruptly,  and  stood 
leaning  against  the  mantle,  looking  into  the  flro. 

"Uupert,  tell  me  truly.  If  May  Everard  had  not 
come  ne'e,  would  you  not  ere  this  have  asked 
Aileen  t.   i.    ;  our  wife?" 

"Yes  -no-  '  don't  knowl  Mother!"  the  young 
man  cried,  impatiently,  "what  has  May  Kveraru 
done  that  you  slioiild  treat  her  like  this?" 

"  Nothing;  and  I  love  bor  dearly,  and  you  know 


It.    But  she  Is  not  suited  to  you— she  la  not  th 
woman  you  should  marry." 

Sir  Rupert  laughed -a  hard  strident  laugh. 
I  think  Miss  Everard  is  much  of  your  opinion, 
my  lady.  You  might  have  spared  yourself  aU  these 
fears  and  perplexities,  for  the  simple  reason  that  1 
should  have  been  refused  had  I  asked." 

"Hupert!" 

"  Nay,  mother  mine,  no  need  to  wear  that  fright- 
ened face,  1  haven''  asked  Hiss  Everard  in  so 
many  words  to  marry  me,  and  she  hasn't  declined 
with  thanks;  but  she  would  if  I  did,  I  saw  enough 
to-day  for  that," 

"Then  you  don't  care  for  Aileen?"  with  a  look 
of  blank  consternation. 

"  I  care  for  her  very  much,  mother;  and  I  haven't 
owned  to  being  absolutely  In  love  »dth  our  pretty 
little  May.  Perhaps  I  care  for  one  as  much  as  the 
other;  perhaps  I  know  in  my  Inmost  heart  she  is 
the  one  I  should  marty.  That  is,  If  she  will  marry 
me." 

"  You  owe  It  to  her  to  ask  her." 

"Do  If  Very  likely;  and  It  would  make  you 
happy,  my  mother?" 

He  came  and  bent  over  her  again,  smiling  down 
in  her  wan,  anxious  face, 

"  More  happy  than  anything  else  in  this  world, 
Rupert!" 

"Then  consider  it  an  accomplished  fact.  Befors 
the  sun  sets  to-day  Aileen  Joeyln  shall  say  yes  or 
u-j  *n  vour  son." 

Hebeni  and  kissed  her;  then.without  waiting  for 
her  to  speak,  wheeled  round  and  strode  out  of  the 
apartment. 

"There  is  nothing  like  striking  whilst  the  Iron  li 
hot,"  said  the  young  man  to  himself,  with  a  grim 
sort  of  smile,  as  he  ran  down-stairs. 

Loitering  on  the  lawn,  he  enc.'untered  May 
Everard,  still  in  her  riding-habit,  surrounded  by 
three  or  four  poodle-dogs, 

"  On  the  wing  again,  Uupert  ?  Is  it  for  mamma  f 
She  Is  not  worse?' 

"  No;  I  am  going  to  Jooyln  Hall,  Perhaps  I  shall 
fetch  Aileen  back." 

May's  turquoise  blue  eyes  were  lifted  with  a  sud- 
den luminous,  intelligent  Hash  to  his  face. 

"  Ood  speed  you!  Vou  will  certainly  fetch  Aileen 
backl" 

she  held  out  her  hand  with  a  smile  that  told  hlni 
she  knew  all  as  plainly  as  ho  kuew  it  himself, 

"  You  have  my  best  wishes,  Rupert,  and  don't 
iln^^er;  I  want  to  congratulate  Aileen," 

Sir  Rupert's  response  to  these  good  wishes  was 
very  brief  and  curt.  Miss  Everard  watched  him 
mount  and  rido  off,  with  a  mischievous  little  smile 
rippling  round  her  rosy  lips. 

''  My  lady  has  been  giving  the  idol  of  her  ex- 
istence a  caudle  lecture— subjeci,  matrimony," 
mused  Miss  Everard,  sauntering  lazily  along  In  the 
midst  of  her  little  dog.s;  "  and  really  it  is  high  time, 
if  she  means  to  have  Aileen  for  a  (faughter-inlaw: 
for  the  heir  of  Thetford  Towers  is  rather  douhtfiil 
that  he  i.s  not  falling  in  love  with  me;  and  Aileen  it 
dreadfully  Jealous  and  disagreeable;  and  my  lady 
i".  anxious  and  fidgeted  to  death  about  it;  and— 
oh-h-hl  good  gracious!" 

Miss  Everard  stopped  with  a  shrill,  feminine 
shriek.  She  had  loitered  down  to  the  gates,  where 
a  young  man  stood  talking  to  the  lodge-keeper, 
with  a  big  Newfojndland  dog  gamboling  ponder- 
ously about  liim.  The  big  Newfoundland  made  an 
instant  dash  into  Miss  Everard's  guard  of  honor, 
with  one  deep,  bass  hark,  like  d'stant  thunder,  and 
which  effectually  drowned  the  yelps  of  the  poo- 
dles. May  flew  to  the  rescue,  seizing  the  New- 
foundland's collar  and  pulling  him  back  with  all 
the  might  of  two  little  white  hands. 

"You  Wg,  horrid  brute!"  cried  May,  with  flash- 
ing eyes,  ''  how  dare  youl  Call  off  your  dog,  sir, 
this  instant!  Don't  you  see  how  ho  is  frightentog 
mine!" 

She  turned  Imperiously  to  the  Newfoundland'! 
master,  the  bright  eyes  flashing,  the  pink  cheek* 
aflame— very  pretty,  indeed,  in  her  wrath. 

"  Down,  Hector!"  called  the  young  man,  authori- 
tatively; and  Hector,  like  (he  well-trained  animal 
he  w,i9,  subsi  led  instantly.  "  I  heg  your  pardon, 
young  ladyl  Hector,  you  stir  at  your  perll|  sir!  I 
am  very  sorry  he  has  alarmed  you," 

He  doffed  Ills  cap  with  careless  grace,  and  made 
tlie  angry  little  lady  a  courtly  bow. 

"  He  didn't  alarm  me,"  replied  May,  testily;  "he 
only  alarmed  my  doijs.  Why,  dear  inel  how  very 
odd!" 

Miss  Everard,  looking  full  at  the  young  man,  had 
started  back  with  this  exclamation  and  stared 
broadly.  A  tall,  powerful-looking  young  fellow, 
rather  dusty  and  travel-stained,  hut  eminently 
gentlemanly,  with  frank  blue  eyes  and  profuse 
fair  hair,  and  a  handsome,  candid  face. 

"  Yes,  Miss  May,"  struck  in  the  lodge-keeper,  "  It 
Is  oddl  I  see  It,  tool  Ho  looks  enough  like  Sir  Noel, 
dead  and  ginie,  to  be  his  own  sonl''^ 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  May,  becoming  con- 
scious of  her  wide  stare,  "  but  Is  your  name  ho- 
gard,  and  are  you  a  friend  of  Sir  Uupert  Thet- 
ford?" 

"  Yes,  to  both  questions,"  with  a  smile  that  May 
liked.  "  You  see  the  resemblance  too,  then.  Sue 
Uupert  used  to  speak  of  it.    Is  he  at  home?" 

"  Not  just  now;  but  he  will  bo  very  soon,  and  I 
know  will  bo  giad  to  see  Mr.  Legard.  You  had 
better  come  in  and  wait." 

"  And  Hector,"  said  Mr.  Legard.  "  I  thiakP  had 
better  leave  him  iiehind.  as  I  see  him  eying  your 

fiard  of  honor  with  anything  but  a  friendly  eye. 
believe  I  have  the  pleasure  of  addressing  Ifisi 
I  Everard  t    Oh!"  laughing  frankly  at  her  rarprUed 


IV 


)u— she  ia  not  th 

Ident  laugh, 
of  your  opinion, 
yourself  all  theie 

nple  reason  that  I 

laked." 

I  wear  that  fright 
88  Everard  In  so 
le  hiisn't  declined 
lid.  I  saw  enough 

eenf"  with  a  look 

ler;  and  I  haven't 
e  with  our  pretty 
no  as  miioh  a8  the 
no8t  heart  she  is 
if  she  will  marry 


would  make  you 

tin,  smiling  down 

Ise  In  this  world, 

shod  fact.  Before 
In  shall  Bay  yes  or 

ithout  waiting  for 
strode  out  of  the 

whilst  the  Iron  If 
nself,  with  a  grim 
lira. 

iuc^untered  May 
it,  surrounded  by 

Is  It  for  mamma  t 

M.   Perhaps  I  shall 

(lifted  with  a  sud- 

)  his  face. 

ainly  fetch  Aileen 

mllo  that  told  hin. 

nv  It  himself. 

iupcrt,  and  don't 

ilceii." 

i  K'lod  wishes  was 

ard  watched  him 

ilerous  little  smile 

le  idol  of  her  ex- 
ec,,, matrimony," 
lazily  along  In  the 
ally  It  la  high  time, 
I  daughter-in-law: 
la  rather  doubtful 
1  me;  and  Alloen  If 
able;  and  my  lady 
th  about  It;  and— 

a  shrill,  feminine 
o  the  gates,  where 
the  lodge-keeper, 
:ambollng  ponder' 
lundlandmade  an 
a  guard  of  honor, 
stant  thunder,  and 
yelps  of  the  poo- 
seizing  the  Nen- 
him  back  with  all 
Ida. 

d  May,  with  flash- 
off  your  dog,  sir, 
y  ho  is  frightening 

0  Newfoundland'! 
g,  the  pink  cheeki 
ler  wrath. 

lung  man,  authorl- 
ell-tralned  unlmal 
beg  yiHir  pardon, 
t  your  I'erlf,  slrl    1 

3U." 

IS  grace,  and  made 

DW. 

1  May,  testily;  "he 
li'ar  mel  how  very 

10  young  man,  had 
lation  and  stared 
Ing  young  fellow. 
Ml,  hut  omlni^ntly 
eyes  and  profuse 
Id  face. 

B lodge-keeper,  "it 
lough  like  sir  Noel, 

ay,  t)ocoming  con- 
la  your  name  Le- 
Sir  Ituport  Thet- 

li  a  amile  that  May 
lice  too,  then.    Sfr 
i«  at  home  f" 
10  very  sron,  and  I 
I.egard.    You  bad 

■d.  ■' I  thlnkP  had 
m  him  eyinc  youi 
!)ut  a  friendly  eye. 
Df  addressing  MUf 
y  at  her  sorprlsed 


SIR    NOEL'S    HEIR. 


It 


face,  "Sir  Rupert  showed  me  a  photograph  of 
yours  a3  a  child.  I  have  a  good  memo,  y  for  faces, 
and  knew  you  at  once." 

Miss  Everard  and  Mr.  Lcgard  fell  easily  Into  con- 
versatlon  at  once,  as  if  they  had  beer,  old  friends. 
Lady  Thetford's  ward  was  one  of  those  people 
who  form  their  likes  and  dislikes  at  first  sight,  and 
Mr.  Legard'a  face  would  have  been  a  pretty  sure 
letter  of  recommendation  to  him  the  wide  world 
over.  .May  liked  his  looks;  and  then  he  was  Sir 
Rupert  s  friend,  and  she  was  never  over  particular 
about  social  forms  and  customs;  and  so  they 
dawill«i  about  the  grounds  and  through  the  leafy 
arcades,  in  the  genial  morning  sunahino,  talking 
about  Sir  Rupert  and  Rome,  and  art  and  artists, 


and  the  thousand  and  one  things  that  turn  up  in 
conviTsation;  and  the  moments  slipped  by,  half 
hour  followed  half  hour,  until  May  jerked  out  her 


watch  at  last,  in  a  sudden  lit  of  recollection,  and 
found,  to  her  ocraaternation.  it  was  past  two. 

"  What  will  msjima  sayl"  cried  the  young  lady, 
aghast.  ".\nd  Rupert;  I  dare  say  ?.e's  home  to 
luneheon  before  this.  Let  us  go  back  to  the  house, 
Mr.  Li'durd.   I  had  no  idea  it  was  half  so  late." 

Mr.  .'jcgai  d  laughed  frankly. 

"The  honesty  of  that  speech  Is  the  highest  flat- 
tery my  conversatic.ial  powiTs  ever  received,  Misa 
Everard.  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you.  Ahl  by 
Jovel   S.r  Itupert  himself:" 

For  ridiug  slowly  up  under  the  similt  trees  came 
the  young  liaronet.  As  Mr.  Legard  spoke,  liis 
pance  fell  upon  them,  th*.  young  lady  and  gentle- 
man advancing  so  contidentially.with'half  a  do/.iMi 
curly  poodles  frisking  about  tlieni.  To  say  Sir  Ru- 
pert stare<l  would  be  a  mini  way  of  putting  it^— his 
eyes  opened  In  wide  wondoi-. 

"Guy  Legard!" 

"ThetfordI    My  dep.i-  Sir  RunertI" 

The  baronet  ieapi'.i  off  bis  Iiorse,  his  eyes  lij-ht- 
Ing,  and  shook  hands  with  the  artist,  in  a  burst  of 
heartiness  very  rare  with  biin. 

"  Where  in  'he  world  did  you  drop  from,  and 
how  under  tho  sun  did  you  come  to  be  iike  this  with 
May?" 

"I  leave  the  explanation  to  Mr.  Legard,"  said 
May,  blushing  a  little  under  Sir  Rupert's  glance, 
"whilst  I  go  and  see  mamma,  only  premising  that 
luncheon  hour  la  past,  and  you  hud  better  not 
linger." 

She  tripped  away,  anil  the  two  young  men  fol- 
lowed more  slowly  Into  the  house,  sir  Ituiicrt  led 
his  friend  to  his  studio,  and  left  him  to  inspect  the 
pictures. 

"Whilst  I  speak  a  word  to  my  mother,"  he  said; 
•*lt  will  detain  mo  hardly  an  instant." 

"All  right!"  said  Mr.  Legard,  Ijoylahly.  ".Don't 
hurry  yourself  on  my  account,  you  know." 

Lady  Thetford  lay  where  her  son  had  left  her— 
lay  as  if  she  had  hardly  stirred  since.  She  looHed 
up  and  half  rose  aa  he  ciinio  in,  her  eves  painfully. 
Intensely  anxious.  But  his  face,  grave  and  quiet, 
told  nothing. 

"  Well,"  she  panted,  her  eyes  glittering. 

"  It  Is  well,  mother.  Allcen  Jocyln  has  promised 
to  become  my  wife." 

"Thank  tiod!" 

Lady  Thetford  sunk  back,  her  hands  clasped 
tightly  over  her  heart,  its  loud  beating  plainly 
audible.  Ili'r  son  looked  down  at  her,  his  face 
keeping  its  steady  gravity- none  of  the  rapture  of 
an  accepted  lover  there. 

"You  arc  content,  mother?" 

"More  than  content.  Rupert.    And  youf" 

He  smiled  and,  stooping,  kissed  the  warm,  pallid 
face.  "  I  would  do  a  great  deal  to  make  you  napiiy, 
mother:  but  1  would  nut  ask  a  woman  I  did  not 
love  to  be  mv  wife.  Do  at  rest;  all  Is  well  with  me. 
And  now  I  niust  liuive  you,  It  you  will  notgo  down 
to  luneheon." 

"  I  think  not;  I  am  not  stnnig  to-day.  Is  May 
Vraltingt" 

"  More  than  May.  A  frii'ud  of  mine  has  arrived, 
»nd  will  stay  with  us  for  a  few  weeks." 

Lady  Thetford's  face  bad  been  flushed  and 
eager,  but  at  the  last  words  It  suddenly  blanched. 

■^ A  friend,  RupertI    Whcl" 

"  You  have  heard  me  speak  of  him  before,"  he 
(aid,  carelessly;    "  his  name  Is  Guy  Li'gard." 

CnAITER  XI. 

ON   TUB  WEUDINU  EVE. 

Tn«  family  at  Tbet  fonl  Towers  were  a  good  deal 
surprised,  u  few  hours  later  that  ilay,  by  the  unc^x- 
pected  appearance  of  Lady  Thetiord  at  dinner. 
Wan  as  some  spirit  of  the  moonlight,  she  eanio 
softly  in.  Just  as  they  enteriMl  the  dining-room, 
and  her  son  presented  his  friend,  Mr.  Legard,  at 
once. 

"  Ilia  resemblance  to  the  family  will  bo  the  surest 
passport  to  your  favor,  mother  mine,"  Sir  Rupert 
B:iid,  gayly.  "Mrs.  Weynioro  met  him  Just  now, 
and  recoiled  with  a  shriek,  as  though  she  bad  seen 
a  ghost.  Extraordinary,  isn't  It— this  chance  re- 
#einblanee  (" 

"  Extraordinary ,"  Lady  Thetford  said,  "  but  not 
nt  all  unusual.  Of  course,  Mr.  Legard  la  not  even 
remotely  connected  with  the  Thetford  familyV" 

She  askeil  the  (|ucstlon  without  looking  at  hitn. 
She  kept  In'r  eyes  fixed  on  her  plate,  for  that 
frank,  fair  face  before  her  was  terrible  to  her, 
almost  as  a  ghost.  It  was  the  days  of  her  youth 
over  again,  and  Sir  Noel,  her  husband,  once  mure 
by  her  side. 

"Not  that  I  um  aware  of,"  Mr.  Legard  said,  run- 
ulmi  his  fliigi'rs  through  his  abundant  brown  hair. 
"  Nnt  I  may  bu  for  all  that.  I  am  like  the  hero  of 
a  novel— a  mysterious  orphiui— only,  unfortunate- 


ly, with  no  Identifying  strawberry  mark  on  my 
arm.  Who  my  parents  were,  or  wliut  my  real  name 
Is,  I  know  no  more  than  I  do  of  the  biography  of 
the  man  In  the  moon." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  astonishment— May  and 
Rupert  vividly  Interested,  Liidy  Thetford  «  hite  as 
a  dead  woman,  her  eyes  averted,  her  hand  trem- 
bling 09  If  palsied. 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Legard,  gravely,  and  a  little  sad- 
ly, "  I  stand  as  totally  alone  In  this  world  aa  a  hu- 
man being  can  stand- father,  mother,  brotiier,  sis- 
ter, I  never  have  known;  a  nameless,  ptnniless 
waif,  I  was  cast  upon  the  world  four-and-twenty 
years  ago.  L'ntil  the  age  of  twelve  I  was  called 
Guy  Vyking;  then  the  friends  with  whom  I  had 
lived  left  England  for  America,  and  a  man— a 
painter,  named  Legard— took  me  and  gave  nie  his 
name.  And  there  the  romance  comes  in:  a  lady,  a 
tall,  elegant  lady,  too  closely  veiled  for  us  to  see 
hiT  faei',  came  to  the  poor  home  that  was  mine, 
IKiiil  thi>se  who  had  kept  me  from  my  Infancy,  anil 
l>aid  Legard  for  his  future  care  of  me.  I  have 
never  seen  her  since;  and  I  sometimes  think,"  his 
voice  failing,  "that  she  may  have  been  my 
mother." 

There  was  a  sudden  clash,  and  a  momentary 
confusion.  My  ladv.  lifting  hi  r  gla.ss  with  that 
shaking  band,  had  let  it  fall,  and  it  was  shivered 
to  atoms  on  the  floor. 

"And  yo'.  never  saw  the  lady  after?"  May 
asked. 

"  Never.  Legard  received  regular  remittances, 
mailed,  oddly  enuugli,  from  your  town  here— Ply- 
mouth. The  lady  told  him.  If  he  ever  had  occasion 
to  address  htr— which  he  never  did  have,  that  I 
know  of— to  address  .Madam  Ada,  Plymouth!  He 
brought  me  uj),  educated  me,  taught  me  his  art  and 
died.  I  was  old  enough  then  to  comprehend  my 
position,  and  the  first  use  I  made  of  that  knowl- 
edge was  to  ret  urn  '  Slailam  Ada '  her  remittances, 
with  a  f'i'W  sharp  lines  that  effectually  put  an  end 
to  hers." 

"  Have  you  nevi'r  tried  to  ferret  out  the  mystery 
of  your  birth  and  this  Madam  Ada*"  inquired  Sir 
Rupert. 

Mr,  Legard  shook  his  bead, 

"No;  why  should  I?  I  ilaro  say  I  should  have 
no  reason  to  be  proud  of  my  parents  If  I  did  find 
them,  and  they  evidently  were  not  vorj'j)rnud  of 
nic.  '  Where  ignorance  Is  bliss,'  etc.  If  destiny 
has  decried  It,  I  shall  know,  sooner  or  later;  if 
destiny  has  not,  then  my  puny  efforts  will  be  of  no 
avail.  Rut  if  iiri'sentiments  mean  anything,  I 
shall  one  day  know ;  ami  I  have  no  doubt,  if  I 
searched  Devonshii'e,  I  should  lind  Madam  Ada." 

May  Evei-ard  st;irti'd  up  with  a  cry,  for  Lady 
Thi.'ttord  had  fallen  back  In  one  of  thuso  sudden 
spasms  to  which  slie  hail  lately  become  subject. 
In  the  universal  consternation  Guy  Legard  and  his 
story  we're  for;,'otteii. 

"I  hoiie  wlial  /  said  had  nothing  to  do  with 
this,"  he  cried,  aghast;  and  the  one  following  so 
suddenly  upon  the  other  made  the  remark  natural 
enough.  But  Sir  Rupert  turned  upon  him  in 
haughty  surprise. 

"WhatywH  said!  LadyTbetford, unfortunately, 
has  been  subject  to  these  attacks  for  the  past  two 
years,  Mr.  Legard.  That  will  do.  May;  let  uie  assist 
my  mother  to  her  room." 

May  drew  back.  LadyTbetford  was  able  to  rise, 
ghastly  and  trembling,  and,  supported  by  her  son's 
arm,  walked  from  the  room. 

"Lady  Thetford's  health  Is  very  delicate,  I  fear," 
Mr.  Legard  murmured,  Bympathetlcally.  "  I  really 
thought  for  a  moment  my  Btorj'-telling  had  occa- 
sioned her  sudden  illness." 

WisB  Evernnl  Uxed  a  pair  of  big,  shining  eyes  In 
solemn  scrutiny  on  his  face— tiiat  face  bo  like  the 
pictured  one  of  Sir  Noel  'I'hetforil. 

"  A  very  natural  sui)posltion,"  thought  the  young 
lady;  "so did  /," 

"\ou  never  knew  Sir  Noel?"  Guy  Legard  said, 
musingly:  "but,  of  course,  you  did  not.  Sir  Rupert 
has  told  r.i€  he  died  before  he  was  born." 

"I  nc  /er  Baw  him,"  Bald  May;  "but  those  who 
have  seen  him  in  this  house — our  housekeeper,  for 
instance- stand  perfectly  pctiilled  ut  your  extra- 
ordinary likeness  to  bini.  Mrs.  Ililliard  says  you 
have  given  her  a  '  turn '  she  never  expects  to  got 
over." 

Mr.  Legard  smiled,  but  was  grave  again  directly, 

"  It  Is  odd— odd— very  odd!' 

"  Yes,"  said  May  Everard,  with  a  sagacious  nod; 
"  a  great  deal,  too,  to  be  a  (dianei^  resi'inblanee. 
Hushl  here  comes  Rupert.  Well,  how  have  you  loft 
mamma  t" 

"  lletter;  Louise  Is  with  her.  And  now  to  finish 
dinner;  I  have  an  engageinent  for  the  evening." 

Sir  Rupert  was  Btraugcly  silent  and  dMrtnt  all 
through  dinner,  a  darkly  thoughtful  shadow 
glooming  his  ever  pale  face.  A  supnosition  had 
flashed  across  his  mind  that  turned  liiin  hot  and 
cold  by  tnriia- a  sujipositlon  that  was  almost  a  cer- 
tainty. This  striking  resemblanee  of  the  painter 
Legard  to  liis  doiul  father  was  no  freak  of  nature, 
but  a  retributive  Provldenee  revealing  the  truth  of 
his  birth.  It  came  back  to  his  memory  with  pain- 
fully acute  clearness  that  bis  motlier  had  sunk 
down  once  before  In  a  violent  tremor  and  faint- 
ness  at  the  mere  sound  of  his  name.  Legard  had 
spoken  of  a  veiled  lady— Madam  Ada,  Plymouth, 
her  address.  Could  his  mother— his— be  that  mys- 
terious arbiter  of  his  fate?  The  name— the  place. 
Sir  Hu|)ert  Thetford  wrenched  his  thoughts,  by  a 
violent  effort,  away,  shockcul  at  himself. 

"  It  cannot  be— It  cannot!"  he  said  to  himself 
passionately.  "  I  am  mad  to  harbor  such  thoughts. 
It  hi  a  deBecratiun  of  the  momury  uf  the  dead,  a 


treason  to  the  living.    But  I  wish  Ouy  Legard  had 
never  come  here." 

There  was  one  other  person  at  Thetford  Towers 
strangely  and  strongly  effected  by  Mr.  Ouy  Legard, 
and  that  person,  oddiy  enough,  was  Mrs.  We>-more, 
the  governess.  Mrs.  Weynioro  had  never  even  seen 
the  hito  Sir  Noel  that  anyone  knew  of,  an  '.  yet  she 
bud  recoiled  with  a  shrill,  fcniiiiine  cry  of  utter 
consternation  at  sl^-ht  of  the  youiig  man. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  get  the  lidgets  about 
It,  Mrs.  Weymore,"  Jliss  Everard  remarked,  with 
her  great,  briirht  eyes  suspiciously  keen;  "you 
never  knew  Sir  Noel." 

Mrs.  Weynioro  sunk  down  on  a  lounge  In  a  vio- 
lent tremor  and  faintness. 

"  My  dear,  I  beg  your  pardon.  I— it  seems  strange. 
Oh,  May!"  with  a  sudden,  sh.irp  l.-v,  losing  self-con- 
trol, "  who  U  that  yiiung  manf" 

"  Why,  Mr.  Guy  Legard,  artist."  answered  May, 
composedly,  the  bright  eyes  stil  on  the  alert; 
'  formerly— In  '  boyhood's  sunny  h  ours,'  you  know 
—Master  Guy.    Let— me— see!    Y(  s,  Vyking." 

"  VyklngI"  with  a  spasmodic  cr  ,■;  and  then  Mrs. 
Weymore  ■Iropned  her  white  faje  in  her  hands, 
trembling  from  head  to  foot. 

"Well,  upon  my  word,"  Miss  Everard  said,  ad- 
dressing emidy  space,  "this  does  cap  the  globel 
1  be  Mysteries  of  Idnipho  were  plain  reading  com- 
pared to  Mr,  Ouy  Vyking  and  the  effect  he  produces 
upon  peojile.  Ile'a  a  very  handsome  young  man, 
and  a  very  agreeable  young  man;  but  I  sliould 
never  have  sopeited  lie  possessed  the  power  of 
throwing  all  the  elderly  ladies  ho  meets  Into  gasp- 
ing tits.  There's  Lady  Thetford;  he  was  t.io  much 
for  her,  and  she  had  to  be  helped  out  of  the  dlnlug- 
rooni;  and  here's  Mrs.  Weynioro  going  Into  hys- 
terica because  he  used  to  be  called  Guy  Vyking.  I 
thought  my  lady  niit;ht  be  the  veiliil  lady  of  bii 
story;  but  now  I  think  It  must  have  been  you." 

Mrs.  Weymore  looked  up,  her  very  lips  white. 

"The  veiled  lady  f  What  lady?  May,  tell  mo  all 
you  know  of  Mr.  Vyking." 

"Not  Vyking  now— Legard,"  answered  Mav;  and 
thereupon  the  young  lady  detailed  the  scanty  r«- 
sume  the  artist  had  given  them  of  hia  history. 

"  And  I'm  very  sure  it  Isn't  ch.-inee  at  all,"  con- 
cluded May  p;verar(l,  traiisfi.ving  tlic!  goveniess  with 
an  unwinking  stare;  "and  Mr.  Legard  is  as  much 
a  Thetford  as  Sir  Rupert  hunself.  I  don't  pretei 
to  divination,  of  course,  and  I  don't  clearly  see 
how  It  Is;  but  It  Is,  and  you  know  It,  Mrs.  Weymore; 
and  you  could  enlhr'  i  n  the  young  man,  and  bo 
conldmy  lady.  If  el'      :■    f  you  chose." 

Mrs.  Weymore  turncu  suddenly  and  caught  May's 
two  banda  In  hers. 

"  May,  if  you  care  for  m,>.  If  you  have  anv  pity, 
don'tspeakof  this.  I  i/r  kn,.w— but  I  mu-t  have 
time.  My  head  Is  In  a  whirl.  ;Vait,  wait,  and  don't 
tell  Mr.  Legard." 

"I  won't,"  said  May,  "but  it  ii  nil  very  strange 
and  very  mysterious,  <iellghtfully  like  a  tlnee-vol- 
uuio  novel  or  a  sen,sa,'ion  play,  i'm  getting  very 
much  interested  in  the  hero  of  the  performance, 
and  I'm  afraid  I  shall  be  .leplurabiyln  love  with 
him  shortly  if  this  sort  of  thiug  keeps  on." 

Mr.  Legard  himself  took  the  matter  much  more 
coolly  than  any  Olio  else;  smoked  cigars  philoso- 
phically, criticised  Sir  Rupert's  pictures,  did  a  little 
that  way  himself,  jiiayed  billiards  with  hia  host 
and  chess  with  Mias  Everard,  rode  with  that  youug 
lady,  walked  with  her,  sang  ducts  with  her  In  a 
deep,  meiiidioua  bass,  made  himself  fascinating, 
and  took  the  world  easy. 

"It la  no  use  getting  into  a  gale  about  these 
things,"  he  said  to  Miss  Everard  when  slio  won- 
dered aloud  at  hia  constitutional  phiet-ni;  "the 
crooked  things  will  straighten  of  themaelvea  If  we 
give  them  time.  What  Is  written  Is  written.  I 
know  I  shall  find  out  all  about  myself  one  day- 
like  little  Paul  Dombi  y,  '  I  feel  It  in  my  bones.'  " 

Mr.  Legard  was  tlirown  a  good  deal  upon  Mtsf 
Everard's  resources  for  anuisement;  for.  of  course. 
Sir  Rupert's  time  was  chielly  spent  at  Jocyln  Hall, 
and  Mr.  Lcgard  bore  tills  with  even  greater  ser- 
enity than  the  other.  Miss  Everard  was  a  very 
charming  little  girl,  with  a  laugh  that  wes  swcetof 
than  the  music  of  the  sjilicrea  and  hundreds  of  be- 
witching little  ways;  and  I.ir.  Legard  undertook  to 
paint  her  portrait,  and  found  it  the  most  absorb- 
ing work  of  art  he  hud  ever  undertaken.  As  for 
the  young  baronet  spending  his  time  at  jocvln 
Hall,  they  never  missed  him.  His  wooing  sped'on 
smoothest  wings— C'ul.  Jocyln  almost  as  much 
pleased  as  my  lady  herself;  and  the  course  of  trua 
love  In  this  case  ran  as  smooth  as  heart  could  wish. 

Miss  Jocyln,  aa  a  matter  of  course,  was  a  gr"at 
deal  at  Thetford  Towers,  and  saw  with  ev",ient 
gratification  the  growing  Intimaey  of  Mr.  Legard 
and  May.  ItwouldhoaneminentlyBultablematch, 
Miss  Jocyln  thought,  only  It  was  a  pity  so  much 
mystery  shrouded  the  gentleman's  birth.  Still,  ha 
was  a  gentleman,  ami,  with  bis  talents,  no  doubt 
would  beeiinie  nii  eminent  artist;  and  It  would  be 
highly  satisfaetiuy  to  see  May  llx  her  crratio  affeo- 
tlons  on  s  -mebody,  and  thus  bo  doubly  l  ut  of  her 
— MLss  Joeyln'B— way. 

The  wediling  preparations  were  going  brlsklT 
forward.  There  was  no  need  of  delay;  nil  wer« 
anxious  for  the  marriage— Lady  Thetiord  mora 
thauanxlous,  on  account  of  her  declining  health. 
The  hurry  to  have  the  ciremony  Irrevocaiily  over 
had  grown  to  be  something  very  like  a  monomauta 
with  her. 

"I  feel  that  my  days  are  numbered," she  safcL 
with  lni|iallence,  to  her  son,  "  and  I  cannot  rest  la 
my  grave,  Rupert,  until  I  see  AUecn  your  wife." 

Bo  Sir  Rupert,  mure  than  anxious  to  please  hia 
mother,  hastened  uu  the  wedding.     An  emlaeiit 


12 


SIR   NOEL'S    HEIR. 


Bii7«l<slan,  sammoned  down  from  LondoD,  con- 
Irmed  my  lady's  own  fears. 

"  Her  life  hung  by  a  thread,"  this  gentleman  said, 
conSdentiaUy  to  Sir  Rupert,  "  the  slightest  excite- 
ment may  snap  il  .it  any  moment.  Don't  contra- 
dict htr— let  everything  be  as  she  wishes.  Noth- 
Ing  can  save  her,  but  perfect  quiet  and  repose  may 
prolong  her  existence.'* 

The  last  week  of  September  the  wedding  was  to 
take  place:  and  all  was  bustle  and  haste  at  Joeyln 
Ball.  Mr.  Legard  was  to  stav  for  the  wedding,  at 
the  express  des'^re  of  Lady  Tht'tford  herseX  She 
had  seen  him  but  very  rarely  since  that  first  day, 
lilnf,«;s  h:id  compelled  her  to  keep  her  room;  but 
her  Interest  in  him  was  unabated,  and  she  had  sent 
for  iiim  I"  ht'r  apartment,  and  invited  him  to  I'e- 
main.  And  Mr.  Le!;ard,  a  good  deal  surprised,  and 
a  littii'  tlattered.  conseutoa  at  once. 

"  Very  Iciiid  of  Lady  Thetford,  you  know,  Miss 
Bverard,"  Mr.  Legiird  said,  saimtcring  Into  the 
room  where  she  sat  with  her  ex-Koverness— Mr. 
Le<^rd  and  MUs  Everard  were  growing  highly 
eonfldential  of  late—"  to  take  such  an  interest  In 
an  utter  stranger  as  she  does  In  me." 

May  -tole  a  glance  from  under  her  eyelashes  at 
Krs.  Weymore:  that  lady  sat  nervous  and  scared- 
iooking,  and  altogether  uncomfortable,  as  she  had 
a  habit  of  doing  In  the  young  artist's  presence. 

"Very."  Miss  Eyerard  said,  dryly.  ''You  ought 
to  feel  highly  complimented,  Mr.  Legard,  for  it's  a 
■ort  of  kindness  her  ladyship  Is  extremely  chary 
of  to  ntter  strangers,  Katlier  odd,  isn't  it,  Mrs. 
Weymore?" 

Mrs.  Weymore's  reply  was  a  distressed,  beseech- 
ing look.  Mr.  Legard  saw  it,  and  opened  very  wide 
hi."*  handsome,  SdXun  eyes. 

"  Eh; "  he  said,  "  it  doesn't  mean  anything,  docs 
It>  Mrs.  We/raoro  looks  mysterious,  and  I'm  so 
BtQplJ  about  these  things.  Lady  Thetford  doesn't 
know  anything  about  me,  does  she?" 

'■Not  that  /know  of,"  May  said,  with  significant 
emphasis  on  the  personal  pronoun. 

"Then  Mrs.  Weymore  does  I  ByJovel  lalwajs 
tteugfat  Mrs.  Weymore  had  an  odd  way  of  looking 
at  me  I    And  now,  what  is  it  y" 

He  turned  his  fair,  resolute  face  to  that  lady  with 
a  smile  hard  to  resist. 

"I  don't  make  much  of  a  hov  ling  ab  lut  my  af- 
fairs, you  know,  Mrs.  Weymore,"  he  said:  "  but  for 
■11  that,  I  am  none  the  lesii  interested  In  myself 
and  my  history.  If  you  can  open  the  mysteries  a 
Httle  yon  will  be  conferring  a  favor  on  me  I  can 
never  repay.  And  I  am  positive  from  your  look 
Toucan." 

ICrs.  Weymore  turned  away,  and  covered  her 
tane  with  a  sort  of  sob.  The  young  lady  and  gun- 
tleman  exchanged  startled  glances. 

"  You  c*n  then  ? "  Mr.  Legard  said,  gravely,  but 
gro w-.ng  very  pile.    "  Y'ou  know  who  I  am  ? ' ' 

To  his  boundless  consternation  Mn.  Weymore 
roee  up  and  fell  at  his  feet,  seizing  hia  hands  and 
covering  them  with  kisses. 

"  I  do  1  I  do  I    i  know  who  you  are,  and  so  shall 

Sn  before  this  wedding  takes  place.  But  before  I 
1  you  I  must  speak  to  Lady  Thetford." 

Mr.  Legard  raised  her  up,  his  faoe  as  colorless  as 
berown. 

"  To  Lady  Thetford  I  What  has  Lady  Thetford 
to  do  with  me?" 

"  EverythiQg  I  She  knows  who  you  are  aa  well 
IB  I  do.    I  must  speak  to  her  first.'' 

"Answer  me  one  thing— is  my  name  Viking?" 

"  No.    Pray,  pray  don't  ask  mo  any  more  ques- 

fons.  As  soon  as  ber  ladyship  Is  a  little  stronger, 
will  go  to  her  und  obtain  ner  permission  to  speak. 
Keep  what  I  have  said  a  secret  from  Sir  Kupert, 
■ad  wait  until  then." 

6he  rose  up  to  go,  so  haggard  and  deplorlng- 
looklng,  thAt  neither  strove  to  detain  her.  The 
TDtug  man  stared  blankly  after  her  as  she  1>  'f.  the 
room. 

**  At  last  I  "  he  said,  drawing  a  det  p  breath,  "  at 
last  I  shall  know  I" 

There  was  a  pause;  then  May  spoke  in  a  flutter- 
kig  little  voice. 

~"  How  very  strange  that  Mrs.  Weymore  should 
Bow,  of  all  persons  In  the  world." 

'Wdo  Is  Mrs.  Weymore?  How  long  has  she 
keen  here?  Tj'l  me  all  you  know  of  her.  Miss  Ev- 
•rard." 

'And  that  'all'  will  be  almost  nothing.  She 
came  down  from  London  as  a  nursery-governess 
to  Bupert  and  me,  a  week  or  two  after  my  arrival 
here,  selected  by  the  rector  of  St.  Uosport.  She 
was  then  w'uat  you  see  her  now,  a  pale,  sulKlucd 
veatnre  In  widow's  weeds,  with  the  look  of  oi<e 
Who  had  seen  trouble.  I  have  known  her  so 
long,  and  always  as  such  a  white,  still  shadow, 
I  mppoee  that  U  why  it  seems  so  odd." 

Mrs.  Weymore  kept  altogether  out  of  Mr.  Lo- 
■ard's  way  for  the  next  week  or  two.  She  avoid- 
ed May  ali*'),  as  much  as  possible,  and  shrunk  so 
palpably  from  any  allusion  to  the  past  scene,  that 
May  good  n&luredly  bided  her  time  in  silence, 
tbooga  almost  as  impatient  as  Mr.  Legard  liimself. 

And  whilst  they  waited  the  bridal  eve  came 
rotind,  and  Lady  Thetford  war  much  belter,  not 
able  to  quit  her  room,  but  strong  enough  to  lie  on 
a  sofa  and  talk  to  her  son  and  Col.  Joeyln,  with  a 
Muab  on  her  cheek  ani  sparkle  In  her  eye— all  un- 
■snai  there. 

Toe  marriage  was  to  take  place  in  the  village 
•horch;  and  t Iiore  was  to  follow  a  grand  ceremon- 
ial of  a  wedding-breakfast;  and  then  the  happy 
pair  were  to  start  at  ouce  on  their  brtdal-tour. 

"  And  I  hope  to  see  my  boy  return,"  Lady  Thet- 
ford said.  IlKs'ng  him  fondly      '  ■  ■ 
(or  more  than  IbaC' 


'  I  can  hardly  ask 


a^*. 


Late  in  the  afternoon  of  that  c,  entfnl  wedding- 
eve,  the  ex-governess  sought  out  Guy  Legard,  for 
the  first  time  of  her  own  accord.  She  found  him 
in  the  young  baronet's  studio,  with  May,  putting 
the  finishing  touches  to  thatyoung  lady's  portrait. 
He  started  up  at  sight  of  his  visitor,  viviiliy  inter- 
ested. Mrs.  Weymore  was  paler  even  than  usual, 
but  with  a  look  of  deep,  quiet  determination  on 
her  face  no  one  had  ever  seen  there  before. 

"You  have  come  to  keep  your  promise,"  the 
young  man  cried—"  to  tell  me  who  I  am  ? " 

"  I  have  come  to  keep  my  promise,"  Mrs.  Wey- 
more answcicd;  "  but  I  must  spedk  to  ray  lady 
first.  I  wanted  to  tell  you  that,  before  you  sleep 
to-night,  you  shall  know." 

She  left  the  studio,  and  the  two  sat  there, 
breathless,  expectant.  Sir  Rupert  was  dining  at 
Joeyln  Hall,  Lady  Thetford  was  alone  in  high  spir- 
its, and  Mrs.  Weymore  was  admitted  at  once. 

'  I  wonder  how  long  you  must  wait?"  said  May 
Everard. 

"  Heaven  knows  I  Not  long,  I  hope,  or  I  shall  go 
mad  with  impatience." 

An  hour  passed— two— three,  and  still  Mrs.  Wey- 
more was  closeted  with  my  lady,  and  still  tlie 
pair  in  the  studio  waited. 

CHAPTEIS   XIL 

UBS.  wbthobe's  STOnT. 

Ladt  THKTFonD  sat  up  an.jng  he>  pillows  and 

looked  at  her  hired  depc  dent  with  wide  open  eye« 

of  astonishment,     "he  i  le,  timid  face  of  Mrs. 

Weymore  wore  a  look  altogether  new. 

"  Listen  l3  your  storyl  My  dear  Mrs.  Weymore, 
what  possible  interest  cau  your  story  have  for 
me?" 

"  More  than  you  tbhik,  my  lady.  You  are  so 
much  stronger  to-day  than  usual,  and  Sir  Rupert's 
marriage  is  so  very  near  that  I  must  speak  now  or 
never.'' 

"  Sir  RupertI  "  my  la  jy  gasped.  "  What  has  your 
story  to  do  with  Sir  Rupert?" 

"  YOU  will  hear,"  Mrs.  Weymore  said,  very  sadly. 
"  Heaven  knows  I  should  have  told  you  long  ago; 
but  it  is  a  story  few  would  care  to  tell  A  cruel 
and  shameful  story  of  wrong  and  misery;  for,  my 
lady,  I  have  been  cruelly  wronged  by  one  who  was 
once  very  near  to  you." 
Lady  Thetford  turned  ashen  white. 

"Very  near  to  mel    Do  you  mean " 

"  My  lady,  listen,  and  you  shall  hear.  All  those 
years  that  I  have  been  with  you,  I  have  not  'jeen 
what  I  seemed.  My  name  is  not  Weymore.  My 
name  Is  Thetford- aa  yours  is." 

An  awful  terror  had  settled  down  on  my  lady's 
face.  Her  lips  moved,  but  she  did  not  speak.  Her 
eyes  were  fixad  on  ^h'■  sad,  set  faoe  before  her, 
with  a  wild,  expectant  stare. 

"I  was  a  widow  when  I  came  to  you,"  Mrs. 
Weymore  went  on  to  say,  "  but  lon;r  before  I  had 
known  that  worst  widowhood,  desertion.  I  ran 
away  from  my  happy  home,  from  the  kindest 
father  and  mother  that  ever  lived;  I  ran  away  and 
was  married  and  deserted  before  I  was  eighteen 
years  old. 

"  He  came  to  our  village,  a  remote  place,  my  lady, 
with  a  local  celebrity  for  Its  trout  streams,  and 
for  nothing  else.  He  came,  the  man  whom  I  mar- 
ried, on  a  visit  to  the  f  reat  bouse  of  the  place.  We 
had  not  the  remotest  oonnectlon  with  tne  house, 
or  I  might  have  known  his  real  name.  When  I  did 
know  him  It  was  us  Mr.  Noel- he  told  me  himself, 
and  I  never  thought  of  doubting  It.  I  was  as  sim- 
ple and  confiding  as  it  Is  possible  for  the  simplest 
village  girl  to  be,  and  all  the  handsome  stranger 
told  me  was  gospel  truth;  and  my  life  only  began, 
I  thought,  from  the  hour  I  saw  him  first. 

"  I  met  him  at  the  trout  streams  fishing,  and 
alone.  I  had  come  to  whiio  the  long,  lazy  nours 
under  the  trees.  He  spoko  to  me— the  handsome 
stranger,  whom  I  had  seen  riding  through  the  vll- 
iago  beside  the  squire,  like  a  young  prince;  and  I 
was  only  too  pleased  and  flattered  by  his  notice. 
It  is  many  years  ago,  my  lady,  and  Mr.  Noel  took 
a  fancy  to  my  pink-and-whito  faeo  and  fair  curls, 
as  fine  gentlomiiu  will.  It  was  only  fancy— never, 
at  its  best,  love;  or  he  would  not  havodeserted  mo 
pitilessly  aa  he'  did.  1  know  It  now;  but  then  I 
took  tlie  tinsel  for  pure  gold,  and  would  as  soon 
have  <loubte(i  tho  Scripture  aa  his  lightest  word. 

"  My  lady,  It  is  a  very  old  story,  and  very  often 
told.  Wo  met  by  stealth  and  In  secret;  and  weeks 
passed  and  1  i.eve*r  leanied  he  was  other  than  what 
1  liuew  him.  I  loved  with  my  wliole  foolish,  trust- 
ing heart,  strongly  and  selUshly;  and  1  was  ready 
to  give  up  home,  and  friends  and  parents— all  tho 
world  for  him.  .Vll  the  world,  but  not  my  gooil 
name,  and  ho  knew  that;  and,  my  lady,  wo  wore 
marricii— really  and  truly  and  honestly  married,  in 
a  little  church  in  Berkshire,  in  Windsor;  and  the 
marriage  is  recorded  In  the  register  of  the  church, 
and  1  have  the  marriage  certificate  hero  In  my  pos- 
session.'' 

Mrs.  Weymore  touched  i  bosom  as  she  spoke, 
and  looked  with  earnest,  truthful  eyes  ut  Lady 
Thetford,  But  Ijidy  Thetford's  face  was  averted 
and  not  to  bo  seen. 

"  Ilia  fancy  for  me  was  as  fleeting  us  all  his  fan- 
cies; but  it  was  strong  enough  and  reckless  enough 
whilst  It  lasted  to  make  him  forget  all  conse- 
quences. l"or  it  was  surely  a  reckless  net  for  a 
gentleman,  such  as  he  was,  to  marry  tho  daughter 
of  a  village  sclioolmaster. 

"  There  was  but  one  witness  to  our  marriage— 
my  husband's  servant— George  Vyklng.  I  never 
liked  tho  man;  he  was  crafty,  and  cnnnlng,  and 
troaohoronji,  and  ready  for  any  deed  of  evU;  but 


he  was  in  his  master's  oonfldenoe,  and  took  a  honae 
for  us  at  Windsor  and  lived  with  us,  and  kept  hla 
master's  secrets  well." 

Mrs.  Weymore  paused,  her  hands  fluttering  in 
painful  unrest.  The  averted  face  of  Lady  Thetford 
never  turned,  but  a  smothered  voice  bade  her  go 
on. 

"  A  year  passed,  my  lady,  and  I  still  lived  In  the 
house  at  Windsor,  but  quite  alone  now.  My  pun- 
ishment had  begun  very  early;  £wo  or  tnree 
months  sufilced  to  weary  my  husband  of  his  child- 
ish village  girl,  and  maltc  film  thoroughly  repent 
his  folly.  I  saw  It  from  the  first-— he  never  tried  to 
hide  it  from  me;  his  absences  grew  longer  and 
longer,  more  and  more  frequent,  until  at  last  he 
ceased  coming  altogether.  Vyking,  the  valet, 
came  and  went;  and  vyking  lold  me  the  truth— 
the  hard,  cruel,  bitter  truth,  that  1  was  never  to 
see  my  husband  more. 

" '  It  was  the  maddest  act  of  a  mad  young  man's 
life,'  Vyking  said  to  me,  coolly, '  and  he's  repented 
of  it,  .IS  I  knew  he  would  '•epent.  You'll  never  see 
him  again,  mistress,  and  you  needn't  search  for 
him,  cither.  When  you  find  last  winter's  snow, 
last  autumn's  partridges,  then  you  may  hope  to 
find  him.' 

"  '  But  I  am  his  wife,'  I  said;  '  nothing  can  undo 
that— hia  lawful,  wedded  wife.' 

" '  Y'es,'  said  Vyking,  '  his  wife  fast  enough;  but 
there's  the  law  of  divorce,  and  there's  no  witneaa 
but  me  alive,  and  you  can  do  your  best;  and  tl>e 
best  you  can  do  is  to  take  It  easy  and  submit. 
He'll  provide  for  you  handsomely;  and  when  be 
gets  tne  divorce,  if  you  like,  I'll  marry  you  my- 
self." 

"  I  had  grown  to  expect  some  such  revelation,  I 
had  been  neglected  so  long.  My  laeto,  I  don't  speak 
of  my  feelings,  my  anguish  and  shame,  and  re- 
morse and  despair — 1  only  tell  you  here  simple 
facta.  But  In  the  days  and  weeks  wlilch  followed, 
I  suflPered  as  I  never  can  suff'er  again  in  this  world 

"  I  was  held  little  better  than  a  prisoner  In  the 
houseat  Windsor  after  that;  and  1  think  Vyking 
never  gave  up  tho  hope  that  I  would  one  day  con- 
sent to  marry  him.  More  than  once  I  tried  to  mn 
away,  to  get  on  tho  track  of  my  betrayer,  but  al- 
ways to  bo  met  and  foiled.  I  have  gone  down  on 
my  knees  to  that  man  Vyking,  but  1  might  as  well 
have  knelt  to  a  statue  of  stone. 

"  '  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do,'  he  said, '  we'll  go 
to  London.  People  are  beginaing  to  look  and  tuk 
about  here;  there  they  know  how  to  mind  their 
own  business.' 

"  I  consented  readily  enough.  My  one  hope  now 
was  to  find  the  man  who  had  wronged  me,  and  In 
London  '  thought  t  stood  a  better  chance  than  at 
Windsor.  Wo  started,  Vyking  and  I;  but  driving 
to  the  station  we  met  w^itn  an  accident,  our  horee 
ran  away  and  I  was  thrown  out;  after  that  I  hard- 
ly remember  anything  for  a  long  time 

"  ^''eeka  passe>d  beforj  I  recovered.  Then  'aa 
told  my  baoy  had  been  bom  and  died.  I  U  vl 
in  a  lort  of  dull  apathy;  I  had  suffered  so  u.i.  h 
that  the  sense  of  suffering  was  dulled  and  blunted. 
I  know  Vyking  well  enough  not  to  trust  him  or  ho- 
lieve  him;  but  I  was  powerless  to  act,  and  oo  ' 
only  turn  my  face  to  the  wall  and  pray  to  die. 

"  But  I  grew  strong,  and  Vyking  took  me  to  Lon- 
don, and  leftme  in  respectably-furnished  lodgings. 
1  might  have  escaped  easily  enough  here,  but  tne 
energy  even  to  wish  for  freedom  was  gone;  I  sat 
ail  (lay  long  in  a  state  of  miserable,  listless  lan- 
guor, hejirt-weary,  bear* -sick,  worn  out. 

"  One  day  Vyking  car.e  to  my  rooms  In  a  furiom 
state  of  passion.  He  and  his  master  had  quarreled. 
I  never  knew  about  what;  and  Vyking  nad  been 
ignominiously  dismissed.  The  valet  tore  up  and 
(town  my  little  parlor  In  a  towering  passion. 

" '  I'll  make  Sir  Noel  pay  for  it,  or  my  name's  not 
Vyking,'  he  cried.  '  He  thinks  because  he's  mar- 
ried II..  heiress  ho  can  defy  me  now.  But  there's  a 
law  in  this  land  to  p^inlsh  bigamy;  and  I'll  have 
iiim  up  for  higamy  the  moment  he's  back  from 
his  weddini  tour.' 

"  I  turned  and  looked  at  him,  but  very  quietly, 
'  Sir  Noel,'  I  said.    '  Do  you  mean  my  husband  t ' 

"'I  mean  Miss  Vaudeieur's husband  now,'  said 
Vyking,  'You'll  never  see  him  agalu,  my  glri. 
Yea,  htj's  Sir  Noel  Thetford,  of  The'ford  Towers, 
Devonshire;  and  you  can  go  and  call  on  his  pretty 
new  wife  as  soon  as  she  comes  home,' 

"  I  turned  away  and  looked  out  of  tho  window 
without  a  word.    Vyking  looked  at  me  curiously. 

"  'OhI  we've  got  over  It,  have  we;  and  we're 
going  to  tako  It  easy  and  not  make  a  scene  t  Now 
that's  what  I  call  sensible.  And  you'll  come  for 
waril  and  swear  Sir  Noel  guilty  of  bigamy?' 

"  '  No,'  I  said, '  1  never  wlUI ' 

"  'You  won't^pnd  why  not?' 

"'Never  mind  why.  I  don't  think  you  wonW, 
undoratand  If  I  told  you— only  1  won't.' 

" '  Couldn't  you  bo  coaxed  ? ' 
"'No.' 

"'Don't  be  too  sure.  Perhaps  I  coold  tell  yon 
something  might  move  you,  quiet  as  you  are.  what 
if  I  told  you  your  baby  did  not  die  that  time,  but 
was  alive  and  well? ' 

"  I  knew  a  scene  was  worse  than  useleea  with 
this  man,  tears  and  entTeatlos  tlirown  away.  1 
hoard  his  last  words  and  slartcel  to  my  feet  with 
outstretoheel  hands. 

" '  Vyklug,  for  tho  dear  Lord's  sake,  have  pity  on 
a  diwolate  woman,  and  tell  me  the  truth.' 

" '  I  am  telling  you  the  truth.  Your  boy  la  alive 
and   well,   and   I've    christened   him   Guy— Ooy 

Vyking.  Dim't  you  be  seared— he's  all  wue;  ana 
the  day  you  appear  In  court  against  HIr  Noel,  that 
day  he  nuallbe  restored  to  you.    Now  don't  yoa  go 


'W;, 


I 


I,  and  took  a  honte 
lis,  and  kept  his 

onds  flutteritif  in 
9of  LadyThetford 
oice  bade  her  go 

I  8tUl  lived  In  the 
»e  now.  My  pun- 
y;  two  or  three 
sband  of  Ills  child- 
thoroughly  repent 
-he  never  tried  to 
grew  longer  and 
It,  until  at  last  be 

f'kiiiK,  the  valet, 
il  mo  the  truth— 
t  I  was  nover  to 

mail  youiitf  man'a 
and  hi''«  repented 
Ynii'll  never  Bee 
■eiln't  search  for 
St  winter's  snovr, 
you  may  hope  to 

nothing  can  undo 

fast  enough;  but 
here's  no  wituesfl 
)ur  best,-  and  the 

easy  and  submit, 
ely:  and  when  be 
11  marry  you  my- 

B\ich  revelation,  1 

a^tr,  I  don't  speak 
1  shame,  anu  re- 

you  here  simple 
[s  which  followed, 
Katii  in  this  world 

a  prisoner  In  the 
d  I  think  Vykiig 
uuld  one  day  con- 
mce  I  tried  to  mn 
7  l)etrayer,  but  al- 
ive gone  down  on 
ut  I  might  as  well 

he  said,  '  we'll  go 
g  to  look  and  tdk 
ow  to  mind  their 

My  one  hope  now 
ron^red  me,  and  In 
er  chance  than  at 
ind  I;  but  driving 
ccidentj  our  horse 
afterthat  Ibard. 
g  time 

tred.  Then  -aa 
d  died.  I  II  id 
suffered  so  u.i.  h 
ulled  and  blunted, 
to  trust  him  or  he- 
to  act,  and  co  ' 
id  pray  to  die. 
Qg  took  me  to  txjn- 
umished  lodgings. 
>ugh  here,  but  the 
1  was  gone;  1  sat 
rable,  liatless  las- 
om  out. 

rooms  In  a  furlon* 
ter  had  quarreled. 
Vvking  bad  been 
valet  tore  up  and 
'lug  passion. 
,  or  my  name's  not 
because  he's  mar- 
ow.  But  there's  a 
imy;  and  I'll  have 
t  he's  back  from 

,  but  very  quietly, 
n  my  husband  f 
Lsband  now,*  said 
1  again,  my  glri. 
The' ford  Towers, 
I  call  on  hLs  pretty 
lome.' 

lut  of  the  window 
d  at  me  curiously, 
re  we;  and  we're 
ke  a  scene  t  Now 
I  you'll  come  for 
3f  bigamy  r 


think  you  woaW> 
won't.' 


9  I  could  toll  yon 
t  as  you  are.  What 
lie  that  time,  but 

than  usolees  with 
thrown  away.  1 
I  to  my  feet  vritji 

sake,  have  pity  on 
lie  truth.' 
Your  boy  Is  allre 
il  him  (luy— (Joy 
-he's  all  safe;  and 
Inst  HIr  Noel,  that 
Now  don't  yon  go 


SIR    NOEL'S    HEIR. 


13 


and  gel  excited;  ttiink  It  over,  and  let  me  know  your  de- 
clBlon  wli«n  I  cutnt!  back.* 

"  He  It'ft  (he  room  lieftwe  I  could  answer,  and  I  never 
Mw  Vyklrip  aKaln.  The  nvxt  day,  reading  the  momlUK 
paper.  I  mw  the  arrest  of  s  pair  uf  tiouac-hrcakers,  and 
tbe  uaine  of  the  chief  was  George  Vyklng,  late  vatet  tu 
Blr  Nnul  Thetftird.  I  tried  to  (ret  to  nee  hlin  In  prlHon, 
but  failed.  Hit)  trial  came  ou,  iils  ient'*ncu  was  transpor- 
tation for  tiMi  years;  and  Vykln^  left  England,  carrying 
my  Hecrt't  with  tilia, 

^  I  had  mtmethlng  left  to  live  for  now— the  thought  of 
my  child.  But  where  was  I  to  And  hini.  where  to  look  ? 
I,  who  hud  Dot  a  penny  In  the  wide  world.  If  I  had  had 
♦lie  means,  1  would  have  fome  to  Devonshire  to  seek  out 
the  man  who  had  so  basely  wronged  me;  but  as  I  was,  I 
cuuld  aH  soon  have  gone  to  the  antipodes.  Oh!  It  was  a 
Mtter,  bluer  time,  that  long,  hard  strupglc  with  starva- 
tion—a time  it  chlllA  uiy  blood  even  nuv  tu  look  bark 
upon. 

"  I  was  atUt  In  London,  battling  with  grim  poverty, 
when,  six  months  later,  I  read  in  the  Tirnen  the  awfully 
ludden  death  of  Sir  Noel  Thetford,  Baronet. 

"My  lady,  1  am  not  speaking  of  thecfTert  of  that  blow 
—I  dare  not  to  you,  as  deeply  wronged  rh  niyeelf.  You 
were  with  him  In  his  dying  moments,  and  surely  he  told 
you  the  truth  then;  surely  he  acknowledged  the  great 
wrong  he  had  done  you  ?" 

Mrs.  Weymore  pauBwl,  and  LadyThetford  turned  her 

face,  her  ghastly,  white   face,  for   the  first  time,   to 

answer. 

"  He  <lld— he  told  me  all:  I  know  your  story  to  be  true." 

"  Thank  God!    Oh,  thank  God!    And  he  acknowledged 

his  first  marriage?" 

"  Yes,  the  wr«g  he  did  you  was  venial  to  thai  which 
he  did  me— I,  who  never  was  hla  wife,  never  for  one  poor 
moment  hatl  a  right  to  hlri  name." 

Mrs.  Weymore  sunk  down  on  her  knees  by  the  couch, 
and  paMsiooatety  klsacd  tbe  lady's  hand. 

"My  lady!  my  lady!  And  you  will  forgive  me  for  com- 
ing here?  1  did  not  Kitjw,  wnen  I  answered  Mr.  Knight's 
advertisement,  where  I  was  coming;  and  when  I  old,  I 
could  not  resist  the  temptation  uf  looking  on  his  son. 
Oh,  my  lady!  you  will  forgive  me,  and  lM;ar  witness  to 
the  truth  of  my  story." 

"  I  will;  I  always  meant  to  Ixifore  I  died.  And  that 
youii^  man— that  Guy  Lugard— you  know  he  Is  your 
•on  ;■*•' 

"  I  knew  It  from  the  first.    My  lady,  you  will  let  me  tell 
him  at  once,  will  you  not?    And  Sir  Kupert  ?    Oh,  my 
lady!  he  ought  to  know." 
Lady  Thotfor  J  covered  ho/  face  with  a  groan. 
"I  promised  his  father  on  Ills  death-bed  to  tell  hira  long 
ago,  to  seek  for  his  rightful  heir— and  nee  how  I  have 
kept  my  word.    Uut  I  could  not-  I  could  notl  It  was  not 
in  human  nature— not  In  such  a  nature  as  mine,  wronged 
M  I  have  been." 
'*  But  now— oh,  my  dear  lady!  now  you  will  ?" 
"  Yes,  now,  on  the  verge  of  the  grave,  I  may  surely 
ipeak.    I  uare  not  die  with  my  promlne  unkept.    Thfa 
very  night,"  Lady  Thetford  cried,  sitting  up,  flushed  and 


excited,  "my  boy  shall  know  all— he  shall  not  marry  In 
Igiiorance  of  whom  he.  really  1h,  AUeen  has  the  fortune 
of  a  princess;  and  Alleen  wilt  not  love  hlni  less  for  the 


title  he  must  lose.  When  he  comes  home,  Mrs.  Wey- 
more, send  him  (o  me,  and  send  your  son  with  blm,  aud 
I  will  tell  them  all." 


CHAPTER    XIIL 

"TIIXBS   IS  MANY  A  8LIP." 

A  ROOK  that  was  like  a  picture— a  carpet  of  rose-buds 

f  learning  through  rl<'h  green  nwRt,  lounges  piled  with 
owny-sllk  pillows,  a  bed  curtained  In  foamy  lace,  a  pretty 
room— Alleen  .loeyin's  chambre-a-coucher,  and  looking 
like  a  picture  herself,  In  a  fiowing  mornlng-robc,  the 
rich,  dark  hair  falling  heavy  and  unnound  to  her  waist, 
Alleen  Joeyln  lay  among  piles  of  scarlet  cushions,  like 
tome  youug  Kasteru  bultunn. 

Lay  and  mu^e  with,  oh!  sueh  an  Infinitely  happy  smile 
upon  her  exquls'te  face-  nmscd,  as  happy  youth,  loving 
and  beloved,  upon  its  bridal-eve  doth  nmse.  Nay,  on  her 
brtdal-day,  for  the  dainty  lltth^  French  clock  on  the 
bracket  wati  polntli.g  Uh  golden  hands  to  three. 

The  house  was  very  still;  all  had  retired  late,  busy  with 

f (reparations  for  the  morrow,  and  Miss  Joeyln  had  but 
oat  dismissed  her  maid.  Every  one,  probably,  but  her- 
self, was  asleep;  and  she,  In  her  unutterable  bliss,  was 
too  happy  for  (-lumber.  Slu  arose  presently,  walked  to 
the  window  and  looked  out.  The  late  setting  moon  still 
swung  In  the  sky;  the  Rtarsst'.ll  spangled  the  cloudless 
blut,  and  shone  serene  on  the  iiurnle  h()aom  of  the  far- 

S reading  sea;  but  In  the  east  tfie  first  pabt  glimmer  of 
e  new  day  shono—her  hapiiy  wedding  da".  The  girl 
slid  down  Oil  her  knees,  her  hands  clasped,  ner  radiant 
face,  glorified  with  love  and  bliss,  turned  ecstatically,  as 
some  faithful  follower  of  thu  propliet  might,  to  that  rla* 
luggl'iry  of  the  east. 

"  .)h!''^  Alleen  thought,  gating  around  over  the  dark, 
deep  soa,  the  star-gemmea  sky,  anti  the  green  radiance 
and  sweetness  of  the  earth,  "  what  a  beautiful,  blissful 
world  It  l8,  and  I  th'  happiest  creature  In  111" 

Kiieellng  there,  with  her  face  still  turned  to  that  lumi- 
nous East,  the  blissful  bride  fell  asleep;  slept,  and 
dreamed  dreams  as  Jo'ful  as  her  waking  thoughts,  and 
no  shado^v  of  that  sweeping  cloud  that  was  to  blacken 
all  her  wtirld  so  soon  fell  upon  her. 

Hours  passed,  and  stilt  A  lleen  slept.  Then  came  an  im- 
Dfrattve  knock  at  her  door— again  and  again,  louder  fsch 
time- and  then  Alleen  started  up,  fully  awake.  Her  room 
was  flooded  with  sunshine,  and  countless  birds  song  their 

Slorlas  In  the  swaying  green  gloom  of  the  branches,  and 
le  ceaseless  sea  was  all  a-glltter  with  sparkling  sun- 


Hghi 

^'(Jome  in,"  Miss  Joeyln  said.  K  wa;*  ner  maid,  she 
tbtmght— and  she  walked  over  to  an  artn-chalr  and  com- 
poAedly  sat  down. 

The  door  opened,  and  Col.  Jwyln.  not  Fanchon.  i.p- 
peared.  an  open  note  In  his  hand,  his  face  full  of  trouble, 

"  I'rpa!"  Alleen  cried,  sUrtliig  up  In  alarm. 

"  Uad  news,  my  daughter— very  bad !  very  sorrowful! 
Head  that. " 

The  note  was  vory  brief,  In  a  spidery,  female  hand. 

"  Ukar  Col.  Jootln:— Wo  are  In  the  greatest  trouble. 
Poor  liady  Thetford  died  with  awful  suddenness  this 
morning  In  one  of  those  dn-adful  hiihsuui.  We  are  all 
nearly  distracted.  Uupert  bearw  It  better  than  any  of  ub. 
Prmy  come  over  as  soon  as  you  can.      Mat  Evrkaru." 

Alleen  Joeyln  snnk  back  In  her  teat,  palo  and  trem- 
bMnji. 

"  Doad!    Oh,  papal  papal" 

"  It  Is  very  sad,  my  dear,  and  vury  shueklng;  and  terri- 
bly unfortunate  that  It  ahouM  hare  uconrrod  Juit  at  this 
tfroe.    A  postponed  weddhu  Is  eror  ojolnoiu  of  qvII." 

"Oh!  pray,  papa,  don't  think  otf  lliMI    Don't  HOok  of 


me!   Poor  LadyThetford!   Poor  RupertI   You  will  go 
oTer  at  once,  papa,  will  you  not?  " 

"Certainly,  my  dear.  And  I  will  tell  the  servants,  so 
that  when  our  guests  arrive  you  may  not  he  disturbed. 
Since  It  was  to  be,"  muuered.  the  Indian  officer  under  his 
tnoustaehe,  "I  would  give  half  my  fortune  that  It  had 
been  one  day  later.  A  poetpimed  marriage  Is  the  most 
ondnouR  thing  under  the  sun." 

He  left  the  room,  and  Alleen  sat  with  her  hands  clasi>cd, 
and  an  unutterable  awe  overpowering  every  other  feel- 
ing. She  forgot  her  own  disappointment  In  tlie  awful 
mystery  of  sudden  death.  Her  share  of  the  trial  was 
light— a  year  of  waiting,  more  or  lenc;  what  did  It  matter, 
aliiee  Uupert  loved  her  unchangeably?  but,  poor  Lady 
Thetford,  called  away  In  om*  Instant  from  earth  and  all 
slie  held  most  dear  on  her  son's  wedding-day.  And  then 
Alleen.  remembi-ring  how  muoli  the  dead  woman  hud 
loved  ner,  and  how  fondly  slie  had  welcomed  her  ba  a 
daughter,  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  wept  as 
she  might  have  wept  for  her  own  mother. 

"  1  never  know  a  mother's  love  or  care,"  Alleen  thought; 
"  and  I  was  doublv  happy  in  knowing  I  was  to  have  one  at 
last.    And  now— and  now " 

It  was  a  drearily  Kitig  morning  to  the  poor  brldj  elect, 
sitting  alone  In  hor  chamber.  She  beard  the  roll  of  car- 
riages up  the  drive,  the  pause  that  ensued,  and  then  their 
departure.  She  wonctere^l  how  he  bore  It  best  of  all.  May 
had  said;  but,  then,  he  was  ever  still  and  stmng  and  self- 
restralued.  She  knew  how  dear  that  poor,  ailing  mother 
had  ever  been  to  him,  and  she  knew  how  bitterly  ho  would 
feel  her  loss. 

"They  talk  of  pr, 'lentlments,"  mused  Miss  Joeyln, 
walking  wearljy  to  and  fro;  "and  see  how  happy  and 
hopeful  I  was  this  morning,  whilst  she  lay  dead  and  he 
mourned.  If  I  only  dared  go  to  him— my  own  Ru- 
pert! " 

It  was  late  In  the  af  t«Tnnon  before  Col.  Joeyln  returned. 
He  strode  straight  to  his  daughter's  presence,  wearing  a 
pale,  faggeu  face. 

"  Well,  papa?"  she  asked,  faintly. 

"My  pale  Alleen!"  he  said,  kissing  her  fondly;  "my 
poor,  patient  girl !  I  am  sorry  you  must  undergo  this 
trial,  and,"  knitting  his  brows,  "such  talk  as  It  will 
make," 

"  Don't  think  of  me,  papa— my  share  Is  surely  the  light- 
est.   But  Rupert "  wistfully  faltering. 

"  There's  souiethlug  odd  about  Rupert;  he  was  very  fond 
of  his  mother,  and  lie  takes  this  a  great  deal  t(PO  (piietly. 
He  looks  like  a  man  slowly  tu^nln^'  to  stone,  with  a  face 
white  and  stern;  ond  he  never  asked  for  yon.  He  sat  there 
with  folded  arniH  and  that  petrified  face,  gazing  on  hia 
dead,  unir  it  chilled  my  blood  to  look  at  him.  There's 
something  odd  and  unnatural  In  this  frozen  culm.  And, 
oh!  l(i'.the-bye!  I  forgot  to  tell  you  the  strangest  thing- 
May  Everard  It  was  told  me;  that  painter  fellow— what's 
his  nanie " 

"Legard,  papa?  '• 

"  Yes,  Legard.  He  turns  out  to  be  the  eon  of  Mrs.  Wey- 
niore;  they  dlscovL'red  it  laBt  night.  He  was  there  In  the 
room,  with  the  morit  dazed  and  tiiysilfied  and  altogether 
bewildered  expression  of  countenance  I  ever  saw  a  man 
wear,  and  May  and  Mrs.  Weyiriore  sat  crying  Incessantly. 
I  couldn't  see  what  occasion  ihere  was  for  tne 


L'  governess 
na  I  said  so 


and  the  painter  there  In  that  room  of  death,  anc 
to  Miss  Everard.  There's  something  mysterious  In  the 
matter,  fijr  her  fa<'e  flushed  and  she  stammered  something 
about  startling  family  secrets  that  had  come  to  light,  and 
the  over-excItenuMit  of  whl(  h  had  hastened  I-ady  Thet- 
ford's  end.  I  don't  like  the  look  of  Mdngs,  and  I'm  alto- 
gether In  the  dark.  Thac  painter  resembles  the  Thetf  r-rds 
a  great  deal  too  closely  for  the  mere  work  of  chance;  and 
yet,  If  Mrs.  Weymore  Is  his  mother,  I  dtjn't  see  how 
there  can  be  anything  In  that.  It's  odd— confoundedly 
odd!" 

Col.  Joeyln  rumbled  on  as  he  walked  the  floor,  his  brows 
knitted  Into  a  swarthy  frown.  His  daughter  sat  and  eyed 
him  wistfully. 

"Did  no  one  ask  for  me,  papa?  Am  I  not  to  go 
over?" 

"  Sir  Rupert  didn't  ask  for  you!  May  Everard  did,  and 
I  promised  to  fetch  you  to-morrow.  Alh-en,  things  at 
Thetford  Towers  have  a  suspicious  tooktu-day;  I  can't 
tco  the  light  yet,  but  I  suspect  something  wrong.  It  may 
be  the  very  beet  thing  that  Could  ptisslbly  happen,  this 
postponed  marriage.  I  shall  make  Sir  Uupert  clear  mat- 
lers  up  completely  before  my  daughter  becomes  his 
wife." 

''ol.  Jocyln,  according  to  promise,  took  his  daughter  to 
Thetford  Towers  next  morning.  With  bated  breath  and 
beating  heart  and  noiseless  tread.  Alleen  Joeyln  entered 
the  house  of  mourning,  which  yenterday  she  had  thought 
to  enter  a  bride.  Dark  and  still,  and  desolate  It  lay,  the 
morning  light  shut  out,  unlirokeu  silence  everywhere. 

"  And  this  is  the  end  of  earth,  Its  glory  anrl  Its  bliss." 
Alleen  thought  as  she  followed  her  father  slowly  up- 
stairs, "  the  solemn  wonder  of  the  wlndlng-shcet  and  the 
grave." 

There  were  two  watehcrs  In  the  dark  room  when  they 
entered— May  Everard,  pale  and  quiet,  and  the  young 
artist,  Guy  Lciurd.  Even  In  that  moment,  Col.  jocyin 
could  not  repress  a  euperclllous  stare  rif  wonder  to  behold 
the  liousekeeper's  son  In  the  deiith-<'Iiamher  of  Lady  Thet- 
ford. And  yet  It  seemed  strangely  his  ulace,  for  It  might 
have  been  one  of  tliot*e  lusty  old  Thetiords,  framed  an(l 
glazed  ui)-stt»irs,  stepped  tiut  of  the  canvas  aud  dressed  In 
the  fashion  of  the  day. 

"  Very  bad  taste  all  the  same,"  the  proud  old  colonel 
thought,  with  a  frown:  "very  bad  taste  on  the  part  of 
Sir  Rupert.  I  shall  speak  to  him  on  the  subject  pres- 
ently." 

He  stood  In  silence  beside  his  daughter,  looking  down 
at  thu  marble  face.  May,  shivering  drearily  In  a  largo 
shawl,  and  looking  like  a  wan  little  spirit,  was  speaking 
in  whispers  tti  Alleen. 

"  We  persuadiHl  Rupert~Mr.  Legard  and  I— to  go  and 
lie  down;  he  has  neither  eaten  nor  slept  since  his  mother 
dl«l.    Oh,  AlleenI  1  am  so  sorry  for  ytiu!" 

"Hush!"  raising  one  tremulous  hand  and  turning  away; 
"she  was  as  dear  to  me  as  my  own  mother  could  have 
beeni    Don't  think  of  me," 

"  Shall  we  not  see  Hlr  Uupert  '• "  the  colonel  oakod.  **  I 
should  like  to,  particularly." 

"  I  think  not  -unhfts  you  remain  for  some  houra.  Ho  Is 
completely  worn  out,  poor  fellow!" 

"How  comes  that  young  man  here,  Mlis  Everard?" 
nodding  In  the  direction  of  Mr.  Legard.  who  had  with- 
drawn to  a  retnote  comer  "  He  uwy  be  a  very  especial 
friend  of  Sir  Rupert's— but  d<in't  you  think  he  presumes 
on  that  friendship?" 

Miss  Everard's  eyes  Mashed  angrily. 

"No.  sir!  l  thiitk  nothing  of  toe  sorti  Mr.  Legard  has 
a  perfect  right  to  bt;  In  this  room,  or  any  other  room  at 
Thetford  Towers.  It  Is  by  Rupert's  pftrttoular  request  be 
rinnalDsl " 

The  eol  •ml  frowned  again,  and  tunwd  Ills  b«ck  upon 
the  speaJnr. 

"  Al^eett,"  be  stld,  haughtily,  "  as  Sir  Kup«rt  It  not  vlst- 


ble,  nor  likely  Ui  be  for  some  Uroe.  perhaps  you  had  bet- 
ter  not  linger.  To-morrow,  after  the  funeral,  I  shall  speak 
to  him  very  seriously." 

MlsH  .loc  vin  arose,  she  would  rather  have  Itogered.  but 
she  saw  her  father's  onnoyed  face  and  obeyed  him  hmne- 
dlatelv.  She  bent  and  kissed  the  cold,  white  face,  awful 
witli  the  dread  majesty  of  death.  ""tui 

"  For  the  Itwt  thne,  my  friend,  my  mother,"  she  mur- 
mured, "until  we  meet  hi  heaven  " 

Shte  drew  her  veil  over  her  face  lohldeherfalllng  tears, 
and  silently  followed  the  steru  and  dihpieased  IndUn  offi- 
cer down-stairs  and  out  of  the  house.  >he  looked  back 
wistfully  once  at  the  gray,  old  Ivy-grown  facade;  but 
who  was  to  te.i  her  of  the  weary,  weary  months  and 
years  that  would  pass  before  she  crossed  that  statelr 
threshold  again?  ' 

It  was  a  very  grand  and  Imposing  ceremonial,  that 
burial  (.f  Lady  ihetford;  and  side  by  side  with '.lie  heir 
walked  the  unknown  painter.  Guy  Legard.  OoJ  Joeyln 
was  not  the  only  friend  of  the  family  shucked  on  this 
occasion.  What  eould  Sir  Rupert  mean  ?  And  what  did 
.Mr.  Legard  mean  by  looking  ten  tinier  more  like  the  old 
1  hetford  race  than  Sir  Noel's  own  son  and  heh? 

It  wu8  u  mlserahle  day,  this  day  of  the  funeral.  There 
was  a  sky  of  lead  hanging  low  like  a  pall,  and  it  was 
almost  dark  In  the  rainy  afternoon  gloaming  when  CoL 
Jocyin  and  Sir  Rupert  Thetford  sitjod  alone  before  tfa« 
village  church.  Lady  Thetford  siepi  with  the  rest  of  the 
name  In  the  stony  vaulU;  the  falr-halred  artist  stood  la 
the  porch,  and  Sir  Rupert,  with  a  face  wan  and  stern, 
and  spectral.  In  the  dying  daylight,  utood  face  to  face 
with  the  co!      .?l. 

"A  private  Interview,"  the  eolonel  was  repeating; 
"  most  certalnly\  Sir  Rupert.  Will  you  come  with  me  so 
Jocyin  Hall  ?    My  daughter  will  wlsn  to  see  you." 

The  young  man  nodded,  went  back  a  moment  to  speak 
to  Legard,  and  then  followed  the  colonel  Into  the  car- 
riage. The  drive  was  a  very  silent  one— a  vague,  chill- 
Ing  presentiment  of  Impending  evM  on  the  Indian  officer 
as  he  uneasily  watched  the  youug  man  who  bad  so  nearly 
beenjils  son. 

Alleen  Jocyin,  roaming  like  a  restless  ghost  through 
the  lonely,  lofty  rooms,  saw  them  alight,  and  came  ootlo 
the  hall  to  meet  her  betrothed.  She  held  out  both  banda 
Hhyly,  looking  up,  half  In  fear,  In  that  rigid,  death-white 
face  of  her  lover. 

"Alleen!" 

He  took  the  hands  .no  i.;ld  t4iem  fast  a  moment;  tbea 
dropped  them  and  turned  to  the  colonel. 

"Now, Col.  Jocyin." 

The  colonel  led  the  way  Into  the  library.  Sir  Rupert 
paused  a  moment  on  the  threshold  to  answer  Alleen'i 
pleading  glancf>. 

"Only  fur  a  few  momenU.  Alleen,"  he  said,  his  eyei 
sortening  with  Infinite  love;  "In  half  an  hour  my  fate 
shall  be  decided.  Let  that  fate  be  what  It  may,  I  shall  be 
true  to  yuu  while  life  lasts." 

With  these  enigmatical  words,  he  followed  the  colonel 
Into  the  librarr,  and  the  polished  oaken  door  closed  be> 
tweeu  him  and  Alleen. 


CHAl^ER  XIV. 


Half  ai.  hour  had  passed. 

Uu  and  down  the  long  drawing-room  Alleen  vuidured 
aimlessly,  oppressed  with  a  dread  of  she  knew  not  what, 
a  prescience  of  evil,  vague  as  It  was  terrible.  The  dark 
gloom  of  the  rainy  evening  was  not  darker  than  that 
brooding  shadow  In  her  deep,  dusky  eyes. 

Ih  the  library  Col.  Jocyin  stood  facing  his  son-lfi-law 
elect,  staring  like  a  man  bereft  of  his  senses.  The  melan- 
choly, half  light  coming  through  the  oriel  window  by 
which  he  stood,  fell  full  upon  tne  face  of  Rupert  The&< 
ford,  white  and  cold,  aiid  set  as  marble. 

"My  God!  "the  Indian  olllcer  said,  with  wild  eyeso:; 
terror  and  affright, "  what  Is  this  you  are  telling  me  ?  '* 

"  The  truth,  Col.  Jocyin— the  slmnlo  truth.  Would  to 
Heaven  I  had  kiown  It  years  ago— tills  ahamef  til  story  of 
wrong-doing  and  misery! " 

"  I  don't  comprehend— I  can't  comprehend  this  tbiDOfr 
Bible  tale,  sir  Rupert." 

"  That  Is  a  misnomer  now,  Col.  Jocyin.  I  am  no  lomrep 
5ir  Rupert." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  credit  this  wild  story  of  • 
former  marriage  of  Sir  Noel's?  Do  you  really  believe 
your  late  governess  to  have  been  your  father's  wife  ?  " 

"  I  believe  It,  colonel.  I  have  factti  and  statements  and 
dying  words  to  prove  It.  Ou  my  father's  dcath-bod  he 
made  my  mother  swear  to  tell  the  truth;  to  repair  the 
wrong  he  had  dime;  to  seek  out  his  son,  concealed  byUls 
valet,  Vyklng,  and  restore  him  to  his  rlghtsl  My  mother 
never  kej)t  that  promis'  — the  crue!  wrong  done  to  herself 
was  too .  .•;  and  at  my  birth  she  resolved  never  to  keep 
It.  I  should  not  atone  for  the  sin  of  my  father;  his  elder 
son  should  nuver  deprive  her  child  of  hw  birthright.  My 
poor  mother!  You  know  the  cause  of  that  inysNlRoua 
trouble  which  fell  upon  her  at  my  father''  death,  and 
which  darkened  her  life  to  the  last.  Shsiie,  remorse, 
anger— ahame  for  herself— a  wife  only  In  rapiei  remorse 
for  her  broken  vow  to  the  dead,  and  anger  against  that 
erring  dead  man." 

"  Hut  you  told  me  she  had  hunted  him  up  and  provided 
or  hlm,^'  sttld  the  mystified  eolonel. 

"  Yes;  she  saw  an  advertisement  In  a  London  paper  call- 
ing u|)on  Vyklng  to  take  charge  of  the  boy  he  had  left 
twelve  years  l)efore.  Now,  Vyklng,  the  valet,  had  been 
transported  for  house-breaking  long  before  that,  and  my 
mother  answered  (he  advertlHement.  There  could  be  uu 
doubt  the  child  was  tlu;  child  Vyklng  had  token  charge 
of— Sir  Noel  Thetford's  rightful  heir.    My  mother  left 

' '■ ^1 


him  with  the  painter,  Lugard,  with  whom  he  grew  up, 
whose  name  he  t<iuk,and  he  Is  now  at  Thetford  Towers.' 

"  I  thought  tJie  likeness  meant  something,"  nmttered 
the  colonel;  "his  paternity  Is  pla'niy  enough  written  In 
his  face.  And  so,^'  raising  his  voice,  "Mrs.  Weymore 
recognized  her  son.  Really,  your  story  runs  like  a  melo- 
drama, where  the  hero  turns  out  to  be  a  duke  and  his 
mother  knows  the  strawberry  mark  on  bla  arm.  Well,  sir. 
If  Mrs.  V'eymore  Is  Sir  Noel's  rightful  widow,  and  Goj 
Legard  Iiis  riglitf  ul  pon  and  heir— pray  what  are  you  ?  •* 

The  colorless  face  of  the  ycmne  tnan  turned  diarfc-rod  for 
an  Instant,  then  whitur  than  before. 

"  My  mother  was  as  truly  and  really  filr  Noel's  wife  it 
wos:-.'!"  can  tw  the  wife  of  man  In  the  sight  of  Ffeaven. 
The  crime  was  his;  the  shame  and  suffering  l.ers:  tim 
atonement  mine.  Hlr  Noel's  elder  son  shall  be  sir  NoeTfl 
helr-I  will  play  usurper  no  longer.  To-morrow  I  le«Ta 
St.  (  ^port;  the  day  after,  Enguuid— never,  perhepi,  wO 
return 

"  Vo'  art*  mad,"  Col.  Jocyin  tald,  turning  very  pMm 
**  you  do  not  mean  It." 


I  aan  not  mad,  and  I  do  moen  tt.    I  nuy  t>e  upiortu- 
uwe:  biO.  I  pray  God,  neyer  a  vlUsinl    lUgbt  \t  ^ 
brother  Guy  is  the  rlgbtful  helr-not  IV^ 


tlsri^t;  mf 


14 


SIR   NOEL'S    HEIR. 


"And  Allecn?"    Col.  Jocyln's  face  turned  dark  and 
flKid  tw  Iron  as  hofpoke  his  dauehtt^r'H  niunc. 
liupurt  Thetfurd  turned  away  Die  clianKlOK  face ,  Qtilte 

ghatitly  iiuw. 

"  It  Hhall  be  aa  she  says.  Alk'en  In  ton  noble  and  just 
herself  not  to  huoor  mu  for  dulnK  rli;ht." 

"  It  shall  he  aa  I  say,"  returuud  C<>l..ltM-yln, with  a  voice 
that  riiDK  and  ua  eye  that  Hasht'il,  "  >ly  dauKhttT  t-unicB 
of  a  pruud  and  Btakiless  lacc,  and  ih-mt  hIuiU  she  matt; 
with  "lu;  less  BtalnluHti.  ll<'iir  luv  uut,  yuun^  man.  It 
won't  ilo  to  lire  ui>~plaln  wmds  arc  hi',-i  Multcd  to  a  plain 
CMC.  All  that  ha.s  pasH«-d  hetwlxi  U)U  and  MiSHjocyln 
muse  be  aa  If  It  had  never  bi't-ii.  Tin- heir  of  Thetford 
Towers,  honorably  b^rn,  I  cotidenled  she  tihould  marry; 
but,  dearly  aa  I  love  her,  I  would  M'e  ht  r  dead  at  my  feet 
before  she  should  mate  with  one  who  was  nanielet-a  and 
finpoverlshi'd.  Vou  said  just  now  the  atonement  whs 
yours— y'Mi  said  rlkiUt;  j.'o,and  never  remrii." 

He  pointi'd  to  the  dour;  the  youn^  man,  Btonlly  etiU, 
took  hie  Init. 

"  Win  you  not  permit  your  dau^rhter,  Col.  Jocyln,  to 
■peak  tor  herself?"  ti;'  said,  at  the  door. 

"No,  air.     I   know  my   dauKliter— my  nroud,   hiph- 

Srlted  Aileen— and  my  answer  Is  hers,    l  wish  you  good- 
'ht." 

He  swun(f  rouml  nbriiptly,  turning  his  hack  upon  his 
Ttaltor.  UupiTt  Thetford,  without  one  wi>rd,  turned  and 
walked  out  of  the  house. 

The  liewUderlnt;  raiilditvof  the  sliocks  he  had  rerelvt^d 
bad  stunned  tUm— he  couul  not  feel  the  palii  now.  There 
waa  a  dull  sense  <>f  uchinK  torture  ovtT  hhufrom  head  to 
foot— but  the  acute  ilL'e  wiw  dulled;  he  walked  alonp 
tlirouKh  t'l  black  nipht  like  a  iimu  druptred  and  stupefled. 
He  waa  o  ly  oonselous  liuunst-lv  of  one  thintr— a  wisb  to 
are      ■v:iy.  never  to  set  fool  In  ht.tiosport  ai-'aln. 

.<ie  "ue  walking  In  his  alecp,  he  reaehed  Thetford 
Towers,  hia  old  hi-me,  every  tn *r  and  nlone  of  whleh  was 
Aefu-  to  Iihn.  He  entered  at  <  .ni-',  i::ik<i'(1  into  the  drawing- 
room,  and  found  liuv,  the  nrii^t.  ^itiinjr  before  the  ftre 
itarluK  blankly  Into  tlie  coals,  and  May  Kverard  roamhiK 
restlesaly  up  and  down,  the  flrelik'lit  lalllnn  dullv  on  her 
blauk  robes  and  pale,  tear-stained  face.  lioth  started  at 
hUeatrance— all  wet,  and  wild,  and  hapgard;  hut  neither 
spoke.  There  was  that  la  his  face  which  iroze  the  words 
on  their  lips. 

"  I  am  Kolng  awav  to-morrow,"  he  said,  abruptly,  lean- 
Ingairainst  the  mantle,  and  loi>kln^ui  tlieni  witit  weird, 
«pt»<;tral  eye-^. 

May  uttered  a  faint  crv;  Guy  faced  him  almost  fiercely. 

"Golnguwav:  What  do  vou  nieau.KlrUupcrt?  We  are 
going  away  Io^tiIht,  If  you  like.'* 

"No;  I  go  alone.  Vo'u  remain  horcj  It  Is  your  place 
aow." 

"Never!"  cried  the  younir  iirtiHt— "never!  I  will  go  out 
dd  die  like  a  dog,  in  a  ditch,  before  I  ruh  you  of  your 
birthright!" 

"  You  reverse  matters,"  said  liupert  Thetford;  "it  Is  I 
who  have  robtied  vou,  unwitilntrly,  for  (oo  many  years,  I 
promised  my  inoi"tier  on  her  death-bed,  aa  she  promised 
ny  father  on  hl-^,  that  you  should  have  your  right,  and  I 
wlU  keep  that  promise.  Guv,  dear  old  fellow!  don't  let 
OS  (luarrel,  now  that  we  are  brothers,  after  being  friends 
•o  long.  Take  what  Is  your  own:  the  world  Is  all  before 
me,  uu'l  Kurely  I  am  man  enougii  U)  win  my  own  wav, 
N"t  Olio  other  wiird;  you  shall  riot  conii'  with  me;  you 
ndijht  as  well  talk  to  thest;  stone  walls  and  trv  tu  move 
thciu  as  t<i  nie.    To-morrow  1 1".  and  go  alone." 

"Alouel"  It  was  May  who  breathlessly  repeated  the 
word. 

"  Alonel  All  the  ties  that  bound  mo  hen;  are  broken; 
1  gc»  alone  and  single-handed  to  fight  the  battle  <if  life. 
Ouv.  I  h-ivespi^ken  to  the  rector  about  you— you  will  ilnd 
hi;u  your  friend  and  alder:  and  May  Is  to  niiiKe  her  home 
at  the  rerto.-y.  And  now,"  turning  suiMenly  and  moving 
to  the  d"or,  "as  I  start  early  to-uiorrow,  1  believe  I'll  re- 
tire early.    Good-nlglit." 

And  then  be  was  gone,  and  Guy  and  May  were  left  star- 
ing at  e:»eh  other  wlih  blank  fuc<'s. 

The  storm  of  wind  and  rain  sobbed  lineif  n-:  before 
Tnl  inlght,  and  In  tlie  blui'st  of  sklen,  tier;iMid  bv  banners 
of  rosyclouvls,  rosi^  up  the  sun  next  miifnlnp.  ller'nrethat 
rising  sun  had  gilded  the  tons  of  the  tallest  oaks  In  the 
p:irk  ne.wliohadso  lately  called  It  all  his  own,  had  opened 
the  heavy  oake-n  door  and  passed  from  Thetford  Towers. 
Bs  home,  forever.  The  house  was  very  slUl— no  one  hau 
risen;  ho  had  left  a  note  to  Guy,  with  a  few  brief,  wann 
words  of  farewell. 

"  Better  80,"  ho  thought—"  better  sol  He  and  May  will 
be  happy  together,  for  I  know  he  loves  her  and  she  him. 
The  memory  of  my  leave-taking  shall  never  com  .■  to  cloud 
their  united  llves.'^ 

One  last  backward  glance  at  the  eastern  windows  turn- 
tngtogold;  at  the  sea  blushing  back  the  first  glance  of 
the  day-king;  at  the  waving  trees  and  swelling  nieadows, 
and  then  he  hail  passed  down  the  avenue,  out  through  the 
maulTO  entranc(--gates,  and  was  gone. 


CHA1*TER    XV. 

AFTBB    nVR     YKAKS. 

MooyLiairr  falling  Uko  a  silvery  veil  over  Venice— a 
eryital  clear  crescent  in  a  purple  sky  shimmering  on  pal- 
ace and  prison,  churches,  squares  and  canals,  on  the  glid- 
ing gouifolas  and  the  fllttlug  forms  passing  like  noiseless 
•baoiiws  to  and  fro 


A  young  Indy  leaned  frmn  a  wlndownf  a  vast  Venetian 
hot)'],  gating  thoughtfully  at  the  sUver-llglited  landscape, 
so  strange,  so  unriial.  no  dreamlike  to  bci'  unaccuwtomed 


eyes,  A  voung  lady,  sia(t>]y  and  tall,  with  a  ;)ale,  nrou'' 
faee,  and  a  siatuesuuo  sort  of  beauty  that  was  perfect  in 
its  way.  She  was  dressed  In  trailing  robes  of  crape  and 
bombailne,  and  the  face,  ti  rued  to  the  moonlight,  was 
oold  and  still  aa  marble. 

Bhe  turned  her  eyes  from  the  moonlit  canal,  down 
which  dark  gondolas  floated  to  the  nmsle  of  the  gay  gon- 
dolier's song;  once,  as  an  Kngllsh  volee  In  the  piazza  be- 
low umg  a  stave  of  a  Jingling  barcarult; — 

"OhI  gay  we  row  where  full  tides  flow! 

And  bear  our  boimdlng  pinnace; 
And  leap  along  where  song  meets  song, 
Across  the  waves  oi  Venice." 

Thesltiffcr,  a  tall  yiung  man,  with  aflurld  face  and  yel- 
low slde-wldrikitH,  ni\  unmistakable  son  of  the  "right  lit* 
Ue,ttr,ht  little"  If^iaiid,  paused  In  bis  song,  lis  another  man, 
sttu)  g  through  an  open  window,  struck  blm  an  nlry, 
■leago-bamniur  slap  nii  the  back. 

"  [ought  tu  know  that  volee,"  saM  the  Inst  coiner. 

"MortimjT,  my  lad,  how  goes  It?" 

"ataffordl"  eriRl  the  sliig'-r,  seizing  the  outstretched 
bun)  tn  a  gcnuhui  Kngllsh  grlo,  "  hsppy  to  meet  you,  old 
boy,ln  IhA  ib.nd  of  mmanee!  La  Kabre  told  mi  you  were 
comljag,  bulwho  would  louk  for  you  so  soon?  I  thougbi 
Tou  wum  iktlBK  Sorrento  7  " 

**  Oot  IMMd  uf  Biimo&o,"  aaWl  Rtoflanl,  taklnt^  his  )vrm 
^r  A  w»Ui  up  Ma  down  tti*  pAaxiai  *'  tbere's  a  tc^vr  tiiere» 


our  ago;  and  now  who's  here?   Any  one  1 


too— quite  an  epidemic— malignant  typhus.  Discretion 
Ik  the  be'ter  part  of  valor  where  Sorrento  fevers  are  con- 
cerned.   I  left." 

"When  did  you  reach  Venice?"  asked  Mortimer,  light- 
ing a  cigar. 

'^An    hoi 
know? 

"  Lots.  The  Cholmoiiftdeys,  the  Lythons,  the  Itowards, 
of  Lelgbwonii;  and,  by-tlie-t»ye,  they  have  with  them  the 
Marble  IJrlde." 

"  I'he  which? "asked  Mr.  Stafford. 

"The  Marble  Urlde,  the  i'rineess  Frostlna:  otherwise 
Miss  AlhN-n  .f(tcyln,  of  .locyln  Hall,  Devonslilre.  Ytm 
knew  the  old  colonel,  I  think;  he  died  over  a  year  ago,  you 
rememi)er." 

"  Ah,  yes!  I  remember.  Is  she  here  with  the  Howards, 
and  as  hautlsonie  as  ever,  no  doubt  ?" 

"  Handsi)me,  to  my  mind,  witli  un  uplifted  and  unap- 
proachable sort  of  beauty.  A  fellow  ndglit  as  soon  b>ve 
home  bright  pan  Icular  star,  etc.,  as  ( he  fabulously  wealthy 
heiress  of  all  the  Jncylns,  She  has  no  end  of  sultttrs— all 
the  best  men  here  bow  at  the  shrine  of  the  Ice-cold  Alleen, 
and  all  In  vain." 

"You  among  the  rest,  my  friend?"  with  a  light  laugh. 

"No,  by  Jove!"  cried  Sir.  Mo.'tlmer;  "lliat  sort  of 
thing— the  marbh-  style,  you  know— never  was  to  my 
taste.  I  admire  Miss  Jocyln  Immensely— juat  as  I  do  the 
mimn  uj)  there,  with  no  particular  desire  ever  to  get 
nearer.' 

"  Whi't  was  that  story  I  heard  once,  five  years  ago,  about 
a  broken  engagemi  K?  Wasn't  Thetford  of  that  Ilk  (he 
hero  of  the  tale?— the  romantic  Thetford,  who  resigned 
his  title  and  estate  to  a  myflterlously-fouucl  elder  brother, 
you  know.  The  ^tory  rang  thr<iugh  the  papers  and  tin.- 
elnbsat  the  time  like  wlhlll'-e,nnd  set  the  whole  country 
talking,  I  remember.  She  wasengaged  to  him, wasn't  she, 
and  broke  oiT?" 

"So  goes  the  story- but  who  knows?  I  recollect  that 
odd  affair  perfectly  well;  It  was  like  the  melodramas  on 
the  f-unny  h-ldeof  the  Thames.  1  know  the 'mynterlously- 
found  elder  lirotb  t,' too— very  line  felb i v.,  Sir  (iuy  Thet- 
ford, and  married  to  the  pretties]  Hub'  wife  the  sun  shines 
on.  1  iiniJ't  say  Uupert  Tlietfird  beliaved  wonderfully 
well  l[i  that  unpleasant  business;  very  few  men  would  do 
as  he  did— (hey  would,  at  least,  have  made  a  Qgbt  for  the 
title  and  estates.  IJy-the-way,  I  wonder  what  ever  became 
of  biin?" 

"  !  left  blm  at  Sorrento,"  said  Stafford,  cotdlv. 

"  The  deuce  you  did!    what  was  he  doing  then'  ?  " 

"  Itjiving  In  the  fever;  go  the  penple  told  me  with  whom 
he  stopped.  1  just  discovered  he  was  In  thej)Iaceas  I  was 
about  to  it'aveft.  lie  Inul  fallen  very  low,  I  fancy;  his  pic- 
tures didn't  sell,  I  suppose;  he  has  been  In  the  painting 
line  •'Inee  he  ceased  to  be  sir  Rupert,  and  the  world  has 
gone  ai_'aiii>t  hini.  Kaiiier  hard  <>n  lilui  to  lose  fortune, 
Iltle,  li.'iiie,  hriile,  and  all  atone  fej]  sWoop,  SoUlii  woniiil 
there  are  wtio  would  go  with  their  i>Hgbted  husbands  to 
bei:garv;  but  I  8uppo>o  the  lovely  Aileen  Is  not  one  of 
them." 

"And  so  you  left  him  111  of  the  fever?    Poorfellowl" 

"Danger- 'usly  1)1." 

"And  the  people  with  whom  he  Is  will  lake  very  little 
care  of  hini;  he's  aa  good  as  dead.  Let  us  go  In— I  want  to 
have  a  look  at  the  latest  Kngllsh  papi  rs." 

Ttui  two  men  passed  In,  out  of  the  moonlight, off  the 
pla/za,  all  unconscious  that  they  had  bad  a  listener.  The 
pale  watcher  in  the  trailing  black  robes,  scarcely  heeding 
them  at  llrst,  had  grown  more  and  more  absorbed  In  the 
careless  conversation.  Slie  caught  her  breath  In  quirk, 
sh'trt  giisjiB,  the  dark  eyes  dilated,  the  slender  hands 
pressed  themselves  tight  over  the  throbbing  heart.  As 
they  went  In  off  the  balcony  she  slid  from  tier  seat  and 
held  up  her  clasped  hands  to  the  luminous  night  skv. 

"  Hear  me,oh,Godl"  the  white  lips  cried-"  I,  who  nave 
aided  In  wrecking  a  noble  heart— hear  me,  and  help  me  to 


keep  my  vow!    1  offer  my  whole  Ufe  In  atonement  for  the 

cruel  and  wicked  past.    If  he  dU     ^   *""  ~    

his  unwedded  widow.    If  he  live 


Jler  voice  faltered  and  died  out,  her  face  drooped  for- 
ward on  thfi  window-fill,  and  the  flashing  nioonUghtfcU 
like  a  benediction  on  the  bowed  young  head. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

AT  80RBENT0. 


Tira  low  light  In  the  western  sky  waa  dying  out;  the  bay 
_  r  Naples  lay  rosy  In  the  haze  of  the  dying  day;  and  on  this 
scene  an  invalid,  looking  from  a  window  high  up  on  the 


sea-washed  cliff  at  Sorrento,  gazed  languidly. 

For  he  was  surely  an  Invalid  who  sat  In  that  window 
chair  and  gazed  at  the  wondrous  ItJilian  sea  and  that 
lovely  Italian  sky;  surely  an  Invalid,  with  that  paUId  face, 
those  spectral,  hollow  eyes,  those  sunken  cheeks,  those 
bloodless  UpH;  surely  aii  invalid,  and  one  but  lately  risen 
from  the  very  gates  of  death— a  pale  shadow,  worn  and 
weak  as  a  chlla. 

As  he  sits  there,  where  he  has  sat  for  hours,  lonely  and 
alone,  the  t'oor  opens,  and  an  Kngllsh  face  looks  In— the 
lace  of  an  Englishman  of  the  lower  classes. 

"  A  visltfjr  for  you,  sir- Just  come,  and  a-foot;  a  lady,  sir. 
^he  will  not  give  her  name,  but  wishes  to  see  you  moat 
particular,  If  jou  please." 

"A  ladyl    To  see  me?" 

The  Invalid  opens  his  great,  dark  eyes  in  wonder  as  he 
spi'Aka. 

"  Ves,  sir;  an  English  lady,  sir,  dressed  In  black,  and  a 
wearing  of  a  thick  veil.  She  asked  for  Mr.  Rupert  The^ 
ford  as  soon  as  she  see  me,  as  plain,  as  jdaln,  sir " 

The  young  man  In  the  chair  started,  half  rose,  and  then 
sunk  back- awlld.eagerllght  lit  In  the  hollow  eyes. 

"  Let  her  come  in;  1  will  see  her?" 

The  man  disappeared;  there  was  an  Instant's  pause,  then 
a  tall,  slender  figure, draped  and  veiled  In  black,  entered 
alon*'. 

The  visitor  stood  still.  Once  more  the  Invalid  attempted 
to  rise,  once  more  his  strength  failed  him.  The  lady  threw 
back  her  veil  with  asudden  motion. 

"Mvt)nd,.\Jleen!" 

"Rupert:" 

Slie  was  on  her  knees  before  him,  lifting  tier  suppliant 
hands, 

"Forgive  me!  Forgive  me!  I  liavo  seemed  the  most 
heartless  and  cruel  of  wcunent  But  I.  too, have  sufferi'd. 
L  am  base  and  unworthy;  but,  ohl, forgive  me,  If  you 
can!" 

The  olil  love,  Ptnmger  than  death,  shone  \.\  her  eyes, 
piftad  In  her  passionate,  sobbing  voice,  and  went  to  his 
very  heart. 

"1  have  been  so  wretched,  so  wretched  all  these  miser- 
able y.  ■^rsl  Whilst  my  father  lived  I  would  not  disobey 
his  ster.  eon.mainl  that  I  was  never  to  atteitint  to  see  or 
hivu*  f  r  >m  you,  and  at  his  death  I  could  not.  \  ou  seemed 
lost  Ifi  me  aud  to  t  he  world.  Only  by  t  he  merest  acrldcnt 
I  heaitl  In  Vi'rdc<»  7on  were  here,  .jki  111— dying.  I  hwtnr) 
timet  i  ''.uutt  btkher  p<  ocmo,  hoping  tg^ust  iiope  to  find 


vou  alive.    Thank  God  I  did  come!   Ob,  Rupertl  Bopertl 
for  the  sake  of  the  past,  forgive  me!" 
"Forgive  you!"  and  he  tried  to  raise  her.    "Alleen— 

darling:" 

ills  weak  arms  encircled  her,  and  the  pale  lips  pressed 
piihsliinaie  ki.-Mcsori  ilu^  tear-wet  face. 

^o,  whil.-Jt  the  red  glory  of  the  sunset  lay  on  the  sea,  and 


till  the  silver  stars  spang4ed  the  sky,  the  reunited  lovers 
k^at  in  the  soft  haze  as  Adam  and  Eve  i        *         '     "' 
loveliness  of  Kden. 


may  have  In  the 


'  How  long  since  you  left  England  ?  "  Rupert  g^ked,  al 
length. 

"Two  years  .igo;  poor  papa  died  In  the  south  of  France. 
You  mustn't  blaineiiim  too  uuicli,  Rupert." 

"My  dearest,  we  will  talk  of  blaming  no  one.  And  Guy 
and  .Slay  are  married  ?    I  knew  they  would  be." 

"Did  you?  i  was  so  surprised  when  I  read  It  In  the 
Tintfi;  lor  you  know  May  and  1  never  corresponded- she 
was  frantically  angry  with  me.  Do  they  know  you  are 
here?" 

"  No;  I  rarely  write,  and  I  am  constantly  moving  about; 
but  I  know  Guy  is  verv  much  beloved  In  St.  Gospoi  t.  We 
will  go  back  toEiiglaiid  one  of  these  days,  my  darling,  and 
glvethem  the  greatest  surprise  they  have  received  slnco 
Sir  Guy  Thetford  learned  who  he  really  was." 

lie  smiled  as  he  said  it— the  old  bright  suille she  remem- 
bered so  well.  Tears  of  Joy  tilled  the  beautiful,  uirturned 
eyes. 

"And  you  win  go  back?  Ob,  Rupert!  It  needed  but  thia 
to  complete  my  happiness! " 

He  drew  her  cIomt,  and  then  there  was  a  long,  delicious 
sllence.whllst  they  watched  together  the  late-rlslug  luooo 
climbing  the  misty  hills  above  Castellamare. 


CHAPTEK  XVII. 


Another  sunset,  red  and  gorgeous,  over  swelling  Eng- 
lish meadows,  waving  trees,  and  grassy  terrace,  lighting 
up  witli  lis  crimson  radiance  the  gray  forest  of  Theifora 
Tower.s, 

111  the  piefty,  airy  summer  drawing-room.  thU  red  sun- 
set sueiiiis  iluougli  open  western  windows,  kindling 
everything  Into  living  light.  It  falls  on  the  brlKhthalred, 
girlish  figure,  dressed  In  floating  white,  seutid  in  an  arm- 
chair in  the  center  of  the  rooni:  too  childiBb-lonkiin:,  you 
might  fancy,  at  flrsi  sight,  to  be  nianmia  t<>^that  lai  tiaby 
she  holds  In  her  lap;  but  she  1m  nut  e  '  ■;*  too  childish.  And 
that  Is  papa,  tall  and  handsome  ai  .  ^,>'>}  who  b  ansovcr 
1  be  chair  and  looks  as  men  do  I. ok  ou  what  Is  the  apple 
of  their  eye  and  the  pride  of  "('..r  hr.i-t. 

"  It  Is  high  time  baby  was  eh..Hr-^'nea,Gu7,**  Lady  Thet- 
ford—for,  of  course,  Lady  Theti  ,.'U  It  Is— was  saying; 
"and,  do  you  know,  I'm  really  at  a  lo^s  f  or  a  name.  You 
wnii't  let  me  eal!  hini  Guy.and  i  t-hv  •  't  call  hitu  N'oel— 
and  so  what  Is  it  to  be?" 

"  Ruiiert,  of  course,"  Sir  Guy  iiiggeBts;  and  little  Lady 
Thetford  pouts. 

"He  doesn't  deflerv--  the  compliment.  Shabby  fellow! 
To  keep  wandering  ;i!>out  the  world  as  he  does,  and  never 
to  answer  one's  lettcis;  and  I  sent  him  half  a  ream  last 
time,  if  1  sent  hini  a  ^■lleet,  telling  all  about  baby,  and  ask- 
ing him  to  come  and  be  godfather,  and  coaxing  Iilm  with 

the  eloquence  of  a  female  Demos wbat-you-niay-c^ll- 

hlni.  And  to  think  It  should  be  all  of  no  usef  To  t  hlnk  of 
not  receiving  a  line  m  return!  It  is  using  me  shauiefully, 
and  I  don't  believe  I  will  call  baby  Rupert." 

"Oh,  yea  you  will,  my  dear!    well,  Smlthers,  what  la 

Ft  )r  Mr.  Smlthers,  the  but  ler,  stood  In  the  doorway,  with 
a  very  i)ale  and  startled  face. 

"  It's  a  gentleman— leastways  a  lady— leastways  a  lady 
andgentleman.    Oh!  here  they  come  tbelrselves!" 

Mr.  Smlthers  retired  preclpltati'ly,  KtUI  pale  and  startled 
of  visage,  as  a  gentleman,  with  a  lady  ou  his  arm,  stood  be- 
fore Sir  Guy  and  Lady  Thetford. 

There  was  a  cry,  a  half  shout,  from  the  youn;?  baronet, 
awlldshrlek  from  thelady.  She  sprung  to  her  f-et,  and 
nearly  dropped  the  precious  baby. 

"Rupert!    AllcenV' 

She  never  got  any  further- this  Impetur)U8  little  Lady 
Thetford;  for  she  was  kissing  ttrst  one,  then  tlie  other, 
crying  and  laughing  and  talking,  nil  Ir.  one  breath. 

"Oh,  what  a  surprise  this  Is!  Oh,  Rupert!  I'm  S4>  glad, 
so  glad  to  see  you  again!  Oh,  Alleen!  I  never,  never 
hojied  for  this!    Oh!  good  gracious,  Guy,  did  youe 

Bu'  '■ ■     ■     ^-    ■     -.--.*. 


r',  did  you  ever!  " 
band,  with  bright 


But  (iuy  was  wringing  his  brother's 
tears  standing  In  his  eyes,  and  quite  unable  to  reply. 

"And  this  Is  the  baby.  May?  Th(  wonderful  baby  yoa 
wrote  me  so  much  atwut,"  iir.  Rupert  Thetford  said.  ^*  A 
noble  little  fellow,  upon  ray  word— ond  a  Thetford  from 
top  to  toe.    Am  Un  season  to  \h-  godfather?" 

"Just  In  time;  and  we  are  going  to  call  It  Rupert;  and  1 
waa  Just  scolding  dreadfully  necauhe  you  hadn't  answered 
my  letter,  ne\er  dreaming  that  you  were  coming  to  an- 
swer it  lu  person!  I  would  as  soon  have  expeeled  the  man 
In  tlie  mooa.  And  Alleen,  too!  And  to  think  you  should 
be  married,  after  all  I  Ob,  gracious  me!  Do  sit  down  and 
tell  mo  all  about  It!" 

It  was  such  a  delightful  evening,  so  like  old  times,  and 
May  In  the  possession  ef  a  baby,  that  Uupert  and  Alleen 
nearly  went  delirious  with  ilellght. 

"And  you  an^  going  to  remain  In  England?"  Blr  Gay 
eagerly  asked,  when  he  had  heard  a  resunii'  of  those  past 
Ave  vears.    "Going  to  reside  at  Jocyln  Hall?" 

"Ye.,:  and  be  neiphbors,  If  yuu  will  let  us." 

"Oh, I  am  so  glad  I" 

"  I  promised  Alleen;  and  now— now  I  am  willing  to  be 
at  home  In  Kngbind,"and  he  looked  fondly  at  his  wife. 

"  It  Is  Just  like  a  fairy-tale,"  said  May. 

"  We  haven't  yet  been  to  Joey  In  Hall.  V'ecanu'atonce 
hen-,  to  see  this  prodigy  of  babies— my  wonderful  little 
nanicHakc." 

Very  late  that  idght,  when  the  reunited  friends  sought 
their  chamlKTS,  May  lifted  her  golden  head  off  Uiu  plUoWi 
and  look<*d  at  her  husband  entering  the  room. 

"  It's  so  very<)dd,  Guy,"  slowly  and  drowsily,  "to  think 
that,  after  all,  a  y^jperf  Thet/ord  should  be  Sir  Nukl'b 
Ueib." 

[the  kid. J 

Rradcr,  If  you  like  thUt  numlar  of  Tur  LEinrRB 
IloUB  LiBHAHT,  send  for  more  of  them.  If  you  do  no* 
like  this  number,  send  for  more  anyway.  We  publish 
scores  of  other  numbers,  many  of  which  are  very  much 
better  and  more  Interesting  than  this  one.  They  coat 
hut  a  trifle— only  three  centa  each,  or  six  cents  for  the 
large  double  numbers— and  furnish  the  cheapest  good 
literature  ever  published  In  any  laiid  or  language.  Orders 
sent  direct  to  the  publisher  (F.  U,  Luptom.  Ko.  68  Murray 
Htreet,  New  York)  are  Invariably  filled  by  rt^tom  maU. 
Please  read  the  list,  which  will  bo  found  upon  anotboT 
page,  of  other  numtMrf*  all  of  wliiab  *m  now  rwdy. 


I 


ADVERTISEMENTS. 


13 


!    Ob.Rupertl  Snpertl 

el*' 

)  mlse  her.    "  A.lleei>— 

1(1  the  patti  lips  pressed 

KM*. 

iihft  lay  on  the  twa,  and 
ikv,  tlie  Ti-uDfted  loven 
L  Eve  may  titive  In  the 

and?"  liupori  abked,  at 


A  Book  that  Is  Worth  Its  Weight  In  Cold  to  Every  Farmer  and  House* 

keeper  In  Amerlcal 

THE  FARM  AND  HOUSEHOLD  CYGLOPiEDIA. 


In  the  south  of  France. 
.Kupert."* 

uiuK  ni*  (Jtie.  And  Guy 
ii'y  would  1m'." 

when  1  read  It  In  the 
ever  corrt'8pi»ndrd— slie 
Do  they  know  you  are 

nstantly  movlntr  about; 
vedlnSt.  GnBport.  We 
H(-  days,  my  darllufi,  and 
\u-y  have  ri't-elvcd  since 
rrally  was." 

irfKlit  smile  she  remem- 
thf  beautiful,  upturned 

iport:  It  needed  but,  thlf 

re  waH  a  lone,  dellcloui 
ler  ttte  lute-rislug  luoon 
itellaumrc. 


Vll. 


ou8,  over  swcUInR  Eng- 
rrassy  terrace,  lighting 

fray  lorcst  of  Theiford 

ilnR-rnom,  thU  rrd  sun- 
iTU  windows,  kindling 
lis  on  the  brlRhi-halrefr, 
vhlte.  seated  In  an  arm- 
10  cmldlflb-NinkiTip,  you 
nanima  t<>*'ihHi  im  baby 
r  »■'_»  toochildtuh.  And 
.  ..,('))  whobanHover 
'k  on  what  la  the  apple 
r  ''I  T"t. 

"nij.ouy,"  LadyThet- 
I  -u  it  Is— was  saying; 
i  10..S  for  a  name.  You 
■  't  call  hlui  Noel— 

iggests;  and  little  Lady 

fmcnt.  Shiihby  fellow! 
Id  HK  he  lioes,  and  never 
t  him  half  u  ream  last 
all  iibout  baby,  and  ask- 
and  coaiiuK  lilni  with 


-  what-you-inay -cull- 
no  uHcf  Toibinkof 

HUHiiig  niL'slnuiiefiilly, 

liupert." 
Veil,  timlthers,  what  la 

ud  In  the  doorway,  with 

Imly— leastways  a  lady 
me  tbeirM'lvrH!" 
y,  Htlll  pab'  and  startled 
Qy  on  hl&  arm,  stood  bo- 
om the  youn;?  t)aronet, 
sprmiK  to  her  ttit,  tmu 


Impetuous  little  Lady 
Jt  one,  then  tin:  other, 
11  In  ouu  breath. 
I,  liupert!    I'msoglad, 
lU'enl     I  ne\er,  never 
I,  Guy.  dldyiiuever!" 
ler'K  hand,  with  bright 
c  unable  to  reply. 
i(  wi-.iderful  baby  yon 
err  Tbetford Bald.    "A 
—and  a  Tlietford  from 
adfatheri"* 
to  call  It  Itupert;  and  I 
seyou  hadn't  answered 
u  were  eonilng  to  an- 
bave  expected  the  man 
id  to  think  you  ahuuld 
iuml  Do  sit  down  and 

r,  sn  tike  old  times,  and 
lat  Uupert  and  Allecn 

In  England?"  BlrGoj 
a  ri'Nume  of  tboHu  past 
cyliiHall?" 
will  let  us." 

low  I  am  willing  to  be 
ed  fondly  at  lils  wlfo. 
d  May. 

lall.  wo  came  at  once 
*— my  wonderful  little 

united  frlenda  Honght 
en  head  off  the  pillow, 
ig  thf  room, 
iiddrowr^lly  "to think 
should  be  Hir  N'oel'B 


;)er  of  Thr  LEiHt'RR 
them.  If  you  do  not 
anyway.  We  publlah 
which  are  rery  much 
this  one.  They  cost 
,  or  Btz  cents  for  the 
di  the  cheapest  ffood 
lor  language.  Orders 
lUrrox,  Ko.  68  Murray 
filled  by  return  malL 
}  found  upon  another 
Ml  MB  now  r«Ml/. 


Tills  book  iKhcompletertadyirfereTice  li&mry  for  farm- 
er! and  houKkeeperH,  beinir  filled  with  useful  facu, 
fclntsand  BagReatlnua  upon  all  subjerta  pertaining  to  ru- 
ral and  domeBticatfalrs.embraclnglhereBnlts  of  experi- 
ment and  leeearoh  by  pcientiJlo  and  practical  men  and 
fr(iinen  in  all  civilized  count rleti.  ItcoDta.inBtliocn-amor 
lutisuince  of  mora  llian  a  dozen  ordinary  afirlcuUunil  and 
iHuiiielKild  booka,  and  Is  tlie  only  firbtcUss  work  of  tlia 
kind  ever  8oId  at1eRAthansixdulIar<t.  It  la  ft  book  to  be 
c.'nsultL'devoryday  Inanyemertrency,  and  to  bo  r-'.id  at 
mil  times  with  Interest  and  profit.  It  Ih  fti-h  a  bui<k  as 
every  farmer  and  housekeeper  needs  and  ouL'lit  to  have, 
■uri'iylnR  the  unl  versal  want  of  a  re  liable  ciiinfiell')r  upon 
every  topic  relating  to  the  farm  and  bousehoM,  and  will 
save  ItJtBinaU  cost  every  week  In  the  year.    The  work  Is 

Ernfiipoly  ilhiatrated,  and  la  divided^  into  two  general 
padinL'S.viz.:  The  yari>inn^T!ieliuus^hol'l,ffi->ii>f\\]i\ch 
occupies  naif  the  book.  Thcpearo  a:;nin  6ubiii\idfd  into 
a  niinit)eror(1<^partmentB.  WeappeudapartlaUumm&ry 
of  the  contents: 

Hurul  Ai*chlt«otnre.»ThlidepftrlineDteonirrli«ii1*iUni 
arxl  I'lani  for  couutry  buuBct,ootuiitca,  baru*  mnd  uUht  ouiLuLld* 
iugt,  wllh  calualilBiOKgenloni  to  ihoMltilendiiigii;  build. 

Fenemond  Gnte*.— "escrfptl&niofagrtatTaneu  of  gutes 
ftnd  feucL's,  Tor  farm  and  ltwD,oruamcDt«l  andclieai),  «ilh  plain 
diiectloQi  for  their  oonstructlon,  are  hers  glt-eo. 

Field  Crops*— ThlidepnrLmrntcanuinfTa^uabTs  bints  and 
«ipful  ■ugg«<itiuii4rc[;ardlng  tlieeuIUirflof  ^I'^at,  C'-rn,  potatoea, 
lltj,  root!,  iohBcco,cti!.,trpaiaof  plowing,  ait-diuK,  h,M.'Iij«,  w«d- 
Ipk  and  harvpHiiij)*,  ttio  diicaaca  end  lii^ecLcr  oLhir  euemiaa  of 
orujii  and  the  bL'Slinfthnds  of  combating  them,  eic.,c:r. 

Fertlllsprn.— 'iliiiimporiautaulijocl,  than  whi<  unotblng la 
ef  grt'nter  iiiiimriance,  la  fully  treated.  Inform nilou  it|;H'en  aa  to 
the  value  of  tachcfthovarioaii  aub-ttancf  a  lo  K  •  ir  aiplioation  to 
dirft-D'utoropi  and (iTinlltlesof  soil,  llkewiBoastobumouia&ufaciuie 
ftnil  rro'lucttpn  of  fertillicra,  eto.teto. 

The  Garden.— Under thliheadlng  la  rIvph  valaablo  Infor. 
■natloD  reganlii.g  the  aucceBiful  growtug  of  anpnragus,  ctUrr, 
eaullflowcr,  toit  itoe9,OL!nu9,  Bq'ia.>'iei,  dipIkhb,  cuciniil>pr«,  cnb- 
tiBRRi,  pariely,  Bplaacb,  bcunv,  becti,  ra'K>h(.d,  muihrotiM,  eto.f 
aireotioni  fordentroylng  g-irdco  pcnta.ai.l  riu.-h  pihtr  ma'cr. 

Orchard  and  Vlm-jard.— Vndcr  thi*  h'  adiiig  T^a  Lave  a 
oomrlcte  fruit  book,  «iih  a  va--<tamouDtof  useful  Inlorniatlua  T  r 
growiT*  of  pflacbei,  plum^,  pears,  apjilrs,  ohcrtii'a,  q  .iuo«a  a^  1 
Crai)«'B;  direotloaa  for  pruning  and  grnflln,;,  cure  and  maoaiii.- 
uieut,  find  for  ourlngdlRensflaiideradlcaUug  pcsti.  ei*.,  eto. 

Hmall  Fruit*.— Thla  dcpartmcLt  t;iT<9  (Jirei.M.'>ni  for  the 
tticfffful  culuvaiion  of  strawbcrrlei,  niphcrrkfi,  bliittln  rri' s. 
whiirlleberrles,  gi>o!t(hcrricf,  currania  end  craubPrrlCH,  eiiiitaeraU 
log  the  experiences  of  the  iiinsieucce'sriil  amall  fr'ntculliirl  u. 

IJtC  Htook.— Uoru  thnn  flHr  pn^oi  are  ailoued  to  thislaipnr- 
tant  fuhject,  and  herein  Trill  be  fouud  Informailoa  of  great  Tuiue 
resBrdiLg  t  ho  cars  and  inaumtfrnent,  feed,  iiif  and  r'aring.othrpr  t"«. 
cattle,  aheep  and  hops;  direcllonf  fur  the  cure  of  aild.stii-  i 
pfOuIiBriolhemandcfftl!  unruly  aad  vlclimS  hablt.i,  fi.r  ths  Cun- 
airuolion  of  nec-ieiarv  bul'Iin"*  and  Convcukncr^,  t"c.,  C". 

Thel*onltry  Yurd.- Thlidei)ari:iJfi.tpiveB  tlio  fut'Mt  In- 
formatloL  regnrniug  the  c  ire  and  management  of  poultry,  Ifllibow 
mod  what  to  ferd,  bow  to  rjakelncut'alDrt,  torn  toraisoartitlcialy- 
hatchfi  chioLt'119,  how  tocura  alldiapasct-of  pouUrrt  givea  hum- 
•roin  designa  and  plana  foi  approved  pnuliry  house',,  C'>op«  and 
yards,  dirfcttona  fornmrketing,  prewrving  Cfr^s,  cnT^i,Uliig,et«. 

The  OBlry.—Uudertliia  blading  Ughvo  tlio  funcit  Inf^r- 
tn»tiua  regarding  butter  making  and  dairy  rariuliig,embruiiig  tlie 
•x^rlenoes  of  the  mo^t  auccessful  dairjmca. 

The  Apiary.— Tha  care  and  maoafrement  of  ben  la  fal'T 
treated  lu  itiia  department,  and  to  those  interested  In  ll.is  protit- 
•blepuriuit,  the  information  bfreglveavlii  be  found  iDvaluable. 

F arm  Implpinentai— I>irc<:tionafrr  makiagDomero>ia  0-<e- 
ful  and  labor.Kavltig  uiensila,  all  of  vhlcb  are  nnpaiontd  aid 
tnay  be  ea.«Uy  made,  ar«  hero  given.  Among  t'icm  are  harrow  a, 
tdj  «luVBtors,  weeding  Implement,  tread  pjweri,  C'<-n-marker^, 
elod  cruahcra,  post  drlrera,  plow  attBchuieou,  oorn  aliclleri,  road 
•crapera,  bhow  plow  a,  bag  hold'-rs,  ei''.,«:c. 

Around  t no  Farm.— ThQtopira  trotted  la  tMadepartmetit 
are  auch  aa  could  not  bJ  properly  elaaaiiitl  e:-ewhpre.  Araoig 
ihem  areeniilage,  drainage,  lawn  making,  paiotii^g,  wbitewaahinT, 
amoke  boosei,  ice  houiea,  ci^'erm,  ecllan,  trnpi,  tanning  hMci, 
•uringmeata,  and  hundreds  of  o'hiTtuatteri,  the aepamneottKSiug 
«Da  of  the  molt  valuable  la  tbe  book. 


Cuoklnff  Ktrlpea.— Thladepartmentocenplea  H»venty  pagea, 
and  li  a  C'j:iipl''ti;  and  mo't  excellfnt  ci"  k  boult.  It  cunipriiei  a 
liT-e  nuri!:cr  of  Ti-nj'Ci  for  brea-f  i«t  di  hei,  aoap«.  ni<ai*  and 
I'jultry,  li-h.  vycetaljl"^,  ealads  and  reUi^h"^.  bread  ai.  1  rolls, 
J  1  lies  and  I  'CB^rx'.*,  I  'I  I  Iln^B,  plea,  fauc7dishea,oakei,li;ecryar3, 
icua,  BuniiM-r  d-!til.*,  and  ci.tifi.-ciionerv, 

XadU-n'  Fnney  Work,— irrrum  are  given  dcifgni  ami 
direct  ioii  J  I. final  .ugmauy  bcmitiful  thln^:sror  t!io  adornment  of 
t!ie  buui'.'  at  Rmall  cost,  Including  t;>Me  c<jvcri,  banging  baaketx. 
V.  II"*,  €iTiVrol.J-'ry  d'.fcifrns,  lugi,  w-  iH  b-i^keis,  baaBucka,  plllon 
■hami.c'  ;h'.s  brush  boliler*,scrapb-Jg3,  placu»hin:n.  penwipers, 
Illu^iQ  Biaudi,  card  ba-Lcla,  Bfrt-eui,  Bllppcr  oadoi,  Cutch-alla, 
oilom*rn,  P  fapill^wi.  wi.l  pftrki:t^,eto.,ctc. 

Fb  rleulturc— T!,t)t:.::Ly  pa,-c9alluttMto  thia  bu:.J-vL  will 
befoubdtf  grtiit  l:itcns6  pn  lvalue  to  every  Inly  who  cuitnatca 
Dowtr*.  Ir.fwriiiaflouliplvt.  a  aalo  the  bcatineiht.d  of  propagating 
a::dlrcati:,g  all  tli^dil^  r<  nt  pi  inta,  tho  curoot  dineaie  and  eradi- 
CAtloooriiiCct  pfsn,  li^owi  ■.■dir.-?iioua  ft  r  making  many  beauti- 
ful Ho'al  a-'l  oM.i  r  fl'^i,  ri,  f  riMii'!'jW  tardcuirc  etr'.,  etij. 

The  Iloria  I'hyalt-lnn.— ii"3  Cay  papij  allotted  to  this 
department  [>  ri.i  ar  '  .lLl^:  Luuie'.:'-:il  book,  and  are  quite  aa  valuable 
aa  ijlae-lent:.9  vt  (Ik)  b<jok3of  thii  kind  auld.  Uerein  are  glvea 
almplcyetre.ii'  '.Qb'mcremMiea  for  all  the  common  complalota  to 
which  U'anLiudiiiuij'-ct,aud  the  Iiif^rmailoQ  thus  gaiLii:i  will  b9 
fouod  (o  Ea-  e  many  dollars  la  due:or'dbi'il9  annually. 

ThoXoIIet.— The  te.  ;h,  b:;uJi,  hair,  br-uh,  llp^,  akin  amt 
CfflDr''- '  "fi  6'0  treated  ui;!'  r  tl.ia  headlnn;  d  .-''ctluni  are  given 
for  r'niuvm^sM  tUmlRhesfrom  aribeaulifjing  thtisaaie,  likewla* 
reoil^s  tor  various  kindi  of  perfumery,  etc.eti;. 

ThoI.oundrT-—Plrecihiis  for  washing  nil  kln^Is  of  fabrics 
and  garmeuta,  for  making  washing  niaohinea.clolh.:*  b:ir".  clothes 
■(irlnkler^tWaablngiiuidB,  alarclieri:imel3,  end  muoti  oiLer  iufor- 
uoUon  cf  proat  value  wi.l  bo  found  in  this  dL|.artmeut. 

IllntH  oud  Help*.— Thiad'^pnrtmentUin  Itaelfn  eompleta 
cyetoptdia  of  valuab'.a  and  O'eful  household  information,  wonli 
more  ihaQ  tha  price  of  the  boo'*  lo  every  houspk.-eper.  It  ia  fillcil 
with  fjciSibiDia  audauciieeUoiiaupouiiuch  avurirty  of  tuples  thai 
we  have  not  apace  toeuuwcraio  even  a  portion  of  them. 


Onlvavery  Braall  portion  of  the  contents  of  this  book  aro  enumerated  above.  It  la  a  vast  KtorebnuHe  of  useful 
facta,  Lintgand  8^^'gesLIon8of  the  utmost  vabie  toiannernand  lioii>ui*oeperf!,  and  nonitiu  wIiobaBabunio  and  an  aero 
or  more  of  land  can  alFord  to  be  wltbont  it.  Tlie  publlsberg  know  full  well  tliat  famiera  nro  a  claps  who  bavo  no  money 
to  waste  upon  luiurloH,  and  aro  e'pially  well  awaro  tbat  ttio  purcbase  of  tliis  boukwillbe  to  tliein  tbomostprotltable 
cpf  1  tivestmenti.  Wbila  o-Jier  books  of  this  character  are  Folif  f<*r  $6,i>0  and  $10.tJ0,  for  all  practical  purposes  tbey  are  no 
I  ntTtlianthla.    The  book  meetaauuiveraal  want,  and  Bhimld  find  Its  way  Into  every  r  rallmme. 

Tub  Fak«  ai»d  Houseuoli)  ('vccop-kiiia  la  a  Inrsje  aiiil  handBurao  book  of  6il  paqes,  12mo,  prlafrd  upon  flna 
I  ipf^r,  and  elfirantly  b-mnd  In  cloth,  eintii'lliahed  with  artistic deslirnR  in  black  and  fr.ild.  It  contalnn  Two  Ifua- 
i.rod  and  Foriy-Iflne  Illii«tratlona«  tho  ortLdnaicuHtof  which  waa  nearly  l.^.o^W.  Tho  book  will  bo  pint  by 
1.  il  post-paid  11  p'lu  receipt  of  pri.-o,  only  On*  Hollar,  Itlaaslar^e  and  asbandBuinelyKotion  np  as  books  nmially 
■I'.d  at >l.6Q and  ti,QO,  iaU  Ita  couienta  are  wortU  tha  weight  of  iho  book  JQ  gold  to  eveiy  farmer  and  bouaeketper. 

rnrr  rn  AM  T  *  ^""^  ^"-^^"  ^"^* 
Mill  IU  HLLi  or  sewing  machine  i 

As  wo  wish  t'.  introdui-c  the  Kabm  and  lU-t  seh"i  u  rvi  u»r.«DiA,  one  cf 
the  bput  and  nioKt  nselnl  bxokH  Ut  fiirraersand  boiififkeenef*ever  publiabe.l.  in 
all  parts  of  the  country  without  delav,  wo  make  to  all  who  reeelTe  tfaiacopy  ot 
the  LKI8URI  IIOUK  liiRRAHY,  tteo  wondfrrut'aliUrnioprt,  aft  folbtwe: 

OflrSr    No.    |.-T<.  miv  one  who  will 
sell  fTii-*  Ten  (?oplt>H"rthe  Finn  and 
HocHKHoM)    Ctcloimjiha,  aud  send  U8 
the  m-'ney  (f  lO.Ui!)  to  pay  for  them," 
will  L'ivf  /'Tw,  ii)  piiy  yii  for  your 
trniibb-,  a  Fine   Nollcl  Silver 
lliinttnvCaBelVulpk  |  <  i  It 
other  wciritrt,  iii'oii    ifter' 
of    flOCOwo  wid  Mild  ten 
eopiiHof  the  bonk  and  tlie 
watch   fri'e.       Thia  waU-b 
ha-  eU'i;ii!itenKiUf.tuiued 
hmitinjr  ca«"^,  warranted 
.'  euln  hllver     It  briR  a 
vi'nnut.    anrl     N 
warranted 
;>naconrai< 
'ind    reliH 
hie     tliii-' 
U    ta    a  fill' 
watth  in    every  partic 
ular,  and'we  KiiaraDN-.. 
It  to   L'lve  perfect  nati- 
tai-tlon. 

Offer  No.  «. -Tm 
anv  one  who  will  h-II  for 
im  Ftvr  <'OPle**dtlie 
Fahm  aNli  Hoi-aKiioiD 
('Tri.op.BUiA.  anl  f-fii-l 
UH  the  money  (ffiOOi  to 
im\  for  tl.t-m,  WB  will 
(live  Free,  iv  pay  you  lor 


your  trouble,  tb<>  Peurl  Se'wlnv  Machine}  or  in 

other  word",  upon  ifceii't  of  $5  IWwe  wlUsmHl  flvecoplM 
oftliebookan«lth.'SewliigM»clmie  Tree.  The  "  Pearl  '» 
Id  abund  seWitiOE  Mnehliie— lu-t  what  everylady  who  hM 
not.  been  able  To  atford  a  biKh  priced  mxchit'e  needs  and 
oiiKht  to  have.  With  it  any  iHdy  can  do  all  thf  fnmdy 
si-wlns;.  It  iHflnipleln  coiistruitloM,  w  ill  Uut  nt-t  ^-ut  ot 
ordt^r,  and  iseahl.y  operH'ed.  It  makes  tlm  ela-th"  chain 
^tllcll,  and  f><'W-<  as  rapidly  ascould  bedeftireii,  Jt  worki 
upon  ihetiauie  principle  a-'  hIo:h-prlcfd  machines,  and  \h  m 
lii-t-classfi'wlni;  iiiacldne.  nijaranlced  toi:lve  Hittlslinilon. 
No*  lier>*  U  a  chance  fnreveryj>erson  Into  wlMthf"  banda 
thiacopy  of  th"  LKISI'KK  IIot'K  Lihraky  i-linll  full,  toob- 
talii,/r''«o/cftnrp«,  and  onlv  at  the  cost  of  a  It  tile  eIl<Tt  au^ 
expentlitiiroof  time,  aspleniild  watcit  orFrwInu  niiiclitne. 
Fiveort'-n  r.  i.lexot"  the  Farm  and  Hot..-iKHou>  cyclo 
F.BniA  in;iy  i.e  hoM  In  any  neij,'htM.rhood  In  a  IVw  bourt, 
liicau>JG  tbebo'k  ls^o  tisf.ul  aud  vnbiniiU  tind  cheiip  than 
<'Vi>r\b"dy  wains  tr  who  m'<'<4  |r  Rend  u§  One  l>olla» 
fiir'aNample  Cony  of  the  Book, show  ltiow>ui 
inenvlsund  nt-lirbtior-.  iiiid  in  aM-ryhliort  tlniojou  wUi 
bavesecured  the  neceHsar\  number  vf  orders  to  entlt|# 
\ou  to  the  WHtcb  or  ^ewillg  machine  ftee.  Tb«  nairpla 
ii'iok  will  !)<>  iduiited  as  (>uc,  soiliut  you  will  only  bavt*  to 
crdfriiiiie  no'ie  to  fiet  thpwatch,  or  four  inort*  to  t;e'  tb« 
fpwinif  inaci.lnH.  Ii  y.iup'll  15b"ok:-,\ou  witi  p.-t  both 
Watch  Hud  pewin^r  riHchin-*,  Wf  ilelivcr  ever\ thing, 
bookH,  waich  and  •enitigmarhine./li(?i/prowW,  clthtr  hf 
mall  «'r  express.  This  pre  m  .itens  made  to  you  by  an 
old.esirtblKhed  andreliab >  pubiishliit;  nouse— fine  thatlg 
endorsit]  by  all  the  ieadimr  nt-w^^paperfl  ibromibout  tbt 
rnltedKtatPH.  TakeadvniJtnR"  Id  It.  K^ndtorthHsam 
pIehonk,an.i  Ifjou  do  nocmcct^ci  inRetMnir  thf  necea 
/'arynuint'erof  orders  fori',  tog-'ttho  watch  or  sewint 
niachtne,  r'-turnthebo"kii'  yoii  wl-b,  and  we  will  retun 
voiinnonev.  ThU  oiler  is  lair  and  sav-'s  you  from  a1. 
fi-k.       Adirisb:    F.M.  rUHTON,  IMil>ll«l»*-r, 

OUMurraySt.fKuw  York, 

ChrlstmasTuflget  Tree ! 

Th«  CnaiSTSiAH  IlirnuET  rnntaln«  ail  tho  followini?  B'ui'I  and 
uaefut  tlilnea  fi>r  holl.lny  amiiaenn-iit :    G  llcaiitlfnl  KiotrAvlnica^ 
GO  I'ortmltB  of  FHhiiiua  MeEi.  SS  I'orlrniia  i>l  FaninuH  \Vi>nieii,    ; 
it  Fam-y  Work  Di-'alKua,  3oo  I'nz/leii,  Jiehiisoti  and  CuiMin>lrunia, 
200  Selecllniia   f-C   Aatotrrapli   Albnais,  luU  P.iplilar  tSnUK".  loa 
Money-making  herr*tH,  6'JParhjp  Uaim-a,  SSIiuka  In  MftRir.Si    | 
Amuaing   ExperlmentH,  2S  P^'pnlar  llecitatl-ma,  Tli.>  I-intiuaga    i 
(irFlow-ra.  Ooldeii  Wln'^l  Forlune-Tvller,  I)ictlt)nar)-  niUrt-amt,    ! 
CiuMa  ti  Harmletta  Flirtation,  Lovera'   Teleirrapti,   M.i.-i'!   Ags 
'rat.l'',Mor-.o  Telegraph  Al|>Iial>et,  SlftRiC  S'lUQie.  JSeien  Wnndi-rw    j 
t.r  the  World,  Map  of  tho  UiiH-d  Slat^a.  l).:aran>l  Dumb  Alpha-    ] 
lift,  and  a  Calendar   for   tho  Current  Ymr.     Hpeeltil  OfTert   j 
We  will  Bend  Tho  People'n  Homo  Journal,  our  latKo  16-  i 
paee,M-coluniii  illuilrattd  l.iti-rary  an.l  Family  paper, 'Ihreo 
Munthaon  trial  U|">ti  rerelptt.f  only  Twelvo  t'entn  I"  poat- 
ageatampa,  an.l  to  each  anhBerll)er  we  will  alao  aciid,  Frt'e  and 
l>oit  paid,  Thk  CHBiBTMAa  IlrnuaT,  cnntalnlng   all  tho  abova; 
flve  BUh-rrliilionB  ami  Hva  Budttela  for60cenla.     ThiB  (treat  offer 
n  mada  l.>  tiitr.jrtoia  our  paper  Into  newtninip^.     Sadt/action 

iuaranteed  Of  mon-y  rffuudej.     Aiidr.'M8  Ft  M.  I.TI'TONj 
*ublt8her»  Niv.  CS  aHurrsy  Btrceti  Kcw  York. 


PETERSON'S 
MAGAZINE. 

SPMUfHEiiSMM 

PUI.I.-SIZI:  DRESS-PATTERNS. 


PKTBBBON'aMAOAZTNBia  tllR^^Af  and  ChtaMSt  ot  tlM 

Iftdy's-booka.  1 1  gives  more  f'»r  the  money,  and  roinbuiev 
Knnter  merits  timn  any  other.  Itn  ImmeuBe  circulatlw 
uinllong-€BtftbHHhed  reputatlup  enable  Ita  pruprletor  w 
diatanco  all  coniputltluti.    In  uhort,  It  baa  tho 

Best  Steel  Engravings, 

Best  Colored  Fashions, 

Best  Dress-PatternSi 
Best  Original  Stories, 

Best  Work-Table  Patterns, 

Best  Music,  Etc.,  Eta. 

Tho  Btortcs,  novelets,  etc.,  In  "Peterson,"  are  ailm% 
ted  tobe  tlie  bestimbllsheil.  Alltha  moatpotiulnrjemam 
loriterii  contribute  ui  It.  Kvi'ry  nimitb,  ii  I'ttL-siZk 
Dbhbs-Paitkrn  iHKlven.  which  la  alone  worth  the  prlot 
of  tho  number.   Every  mouth,  also,  there  appears  a 

MAMMOTH  COLORED  FASHION-PLATE! 


ladies. 

TERMS  (always in  advance)  $2.00  8  Yoar* 
UNl'AR.VLLKLED  OFFERS  TO  CLCBS. 

With  the  "Hook  of  lleaiity,'' 
splenilldly  llluatralcd,<ira  liiriM 
BieeI.«ii(rnhMnK,  "Mothir** 
Darling,"  lor  getting  up  the 
Club. 


a  Copies  for  JS.1.50 
3      ••         ••       I.SO 

1  Copies  fur  fie.no 
4i       "        ••       0.00 

5  Copies  for  aaOO 
J       I'        "     10.50 

For  I.«nrer  n«bs  Still  (ireatcr  Indiiriuients. 
A.ldress  i..,.t-p«l'l,  I'lIABI.FB   .».   l'F.TKM*MI. 
»«»«  ChestMst  St.,  l'llll«d<'lphl«.  ,»>_,,^ 

.■fl.Klmens  aent  in-atU.lf  written  lur.  f;  Bet  av  clul>»  wlia 


Wllh  un  extra  copy  «f  ih« 
Magiizlnu  for  1HH7,  an  a  preml. 
uni,  10  tho  person  gottlntr  up  the 
t;iub. 

With  both 'an  extra  cpy  pt 
the  Magazine  for  1HS7,  and  tba 
large  Bteol*ngravlng,  or  tno 
"  UooK  of  Beauty,"  to  thu  per- 
son getting  up  tbo  Club. 


I 


16 


THE  LEISURE  HOUR  LIBRARY. 


TlieLeisiireHoiir  Library. 

COMPLETE  NOVELS  AND  OTHER  WORKS 
By  Well-known  and  Popular  Anthers, 
'  AT  THREE  CENTS  EACH! 


Each  number  of  Thr  LBiBrREHotTRLiBRARTeontalnA 
a  complete  ftrBt-ciatia  novel  or  otiier  work  \<v  a  well-known 
And  popular  author.    It  is  the  rheapent  nurlesof  ilrst-claKs 


Kn.  «8.    John  Bowerb«Bk*a  Wife.  Br  MtM  HnLor*.  /zrif. 

No.  <T.    Jftapep  D»Be*a  M«oret>     87  uimM.  k.  bbaddom. 
Uluttratid. 

No.SS.    LeoUnr.    Br  Uabt  Cioii.  Mat.    lUustfUal 

No.  M.    Lady    Gwendoline's   Drrnm.     By  the  «atkor  of 
"  Dor«  Tliorni*."   niwdratft. 

Nd.  64.    Kfd  Court  Farm.    Rr  Mm.  Hbmrt  Wood.    TWd. 

No.  08.     T|i«  Frozi-ii  Deep.     By  Wilkiw  Collim.  /UW. 

No.  63.     Hauk  to  th*-  Old  llome.   By  HartCkcil  Hat.    fWI. 

No.r.i.     TheLoitnank  Mote.    Hy  Hri.  ilnHnr  Wo-. v.    lU'd. 

No.  60.     Ilenter.     By  Hkatrh  «  M.  Hutt.     /«u*fra/*< 

No.  49.     A  lirldefrom  theNco.    By  •utbor   ■  DormTliorn-i." 

N'i.4S.    Tlio  Cricket  on  the  Hearth.    A  Cbrliiinurtlorj. 
By  ChahlkhDil-kknh.     lUuuratf-t. 

No.  44.     Thr  Yellow  Ma*k.    By  WilkibCohis*. 

No.  43.     Jlell  Krundon.    By  P.  Hamilton  Htihii.    /UM 

No.  36.    HlHlnc,.     BySlAHY  CsriLHAT. 

No.  S3.     Anne.     By  Hm,  Hknbt  Woor>. 

Nd.sJ.    8UU-r  Ko«e.     By  WiLniECoixnii. 

Nu.  31.     ^Mierle'H  Fate.    By  Urt.  alkiandii. 

A  i^olden  l>awn.  _ry*utti'ir"Dor«Thirrt."    //Trf. 


JVTZNILE  BOOZS. 


works  ever  jubliKhed  lu  anv  laml  ur  lauguaKP,  and  a  real  Rv  w        x/*»  *"** '   ^T,*,  The  Myaterjr  of  the  Ileadlaads. 


boon  to  every  lover  of  pood  literature  Novels  which  co.st 
35  cento  each  in  the  cheapest  t-dition  published  hy  any 
other  houee,  are  produced  by  u-*,  1.1II  and  complete,  and 
Mold  {or  three  cenu.  Renieuibereach  novel  lecwmp/c/e— you 
can  read  it  entire  and  at  unce,  not  having?  to  wait  Tor  It 
from  week  to  week  att  you  do  when  reading  a^toiy  paper 
We  will  "end  any  >f  th.-  iitllowing  nuinberwol  ThkLkibirk 
HotB  LiHRARV,  fey  mail  ]><)itpai(t,  upon  receipt  or  price, 
tnly  thrccenueain.  Look  the  U(>t  over  and  smul  tons  for  as 
■lanv  as  you  wihh.  We  guarantee  satiAfaction.  Yoa  can 
afford  to  Aend  lor  a  number  or  them,  they  are  so  cheap: 

COUFLETE  ITOTELS  E7  FAUOUS  AT7TE0BS. 

No  325.  Malwu'd  Kevense.     Bv  II.  RtntBHiosABD. 

K».  ^r2.  U'bII  Flower*.     Ht  Makion  Hablakk.    Jtluitrated. 

No.  3i>l.  The  MfFch^nt'*  Crime.    Br  Hobatio  alobb,  Jr. 

No.  196.  Ivan  the  Serf.     Bj-  Svlvahui  Cubi,  Jr. 

No.  19:.  llesperla.     By  M.  T.  <'aldor. 

No.  iO'.  Thu  MUadventnrea    of  John  Xlcholaon.    Bv 
BOBSBT  Louts  SrsvinsoM. 

No.  ^M  Two  Klueii.     By  thr  author  of  "Dora  Thortif." 

No. -J06.  Breud  I'pon  the  Watera.     Uy  Utsa  MuLoca.    IWd, 

No.  LiX.  I*fl«e  >lnety<two.    By  Uauy  Cecil  Hay. 

N«.  1212.  A  Vaxabund  Heroine.      By  Mrs.  ankii  Kdwabob. 

No.  21.1.  Clondii  and  Nuniihliie.     By  rHABLXR  Rbaoii. 

No.  210.  Caramel  Cottage.     By  Mn.  IIinhv  Wood. 

No.  fO>*.  The  Treasure  of  Franchard.    By  Bubsbt  Lotrit 

■TBVBIiSOF  . 

No.  309.  The  Dream  Woman.  By  Wilkib  CoLLtMB. 
No.  21s.  Kuthvvn'a  Ward.  Br  Flobihcb  Uabbyat. 
N«.  260.    Ueorce    Caulfleld'a  Journey.     By  Mlu  U.  E. 

^ODO». 

Vo.  203.    Mary  llardwlck's  Klval.     By  Mm.  Hbnby  Wood. 

Ko.  206     A  Tale  of  Three  LIodb.     By  H.  Rioib  Uaooakd. 

Vo.  19».     A  Vark  Inheritance.     By  Mart  Cbcil  Uav. 

No.  19^.     My  SUter  Kate.     By  author  "  Dora  Tlioroe."  lU'd, 

ho.  ISO.     A  WomiUi'B  Neeret.     By  Clara  Auousta. 

Ko.  1^1.    The  Wlsard  of  branada.     Bv  M.  r.  Caldor. 

No.  IM.    That  Winter  Ntsht.    By  Robert  Buchanan. 

h'o.  211.    ThornriToO  Wrttnge.     By  RBrrWiNwooD. 

No  7£).     Huth  llerriL'k.      By  Williau  H.  Blihbbll. 

No.  183.    The  Ked  Crotta.     i»y  M.  T.  Caldor. 

No.  1^2.    For  Loveor  Itiche*.  By  author '■  a  Great  MlNtRke." 

No.  147.    Sir  Noid'a  Heir.     Bv  Hm.  Mav  Aonsb  Flbuinq. 

No   148.    A  Hart«rt>d  Life.     By  Uabion  Harland. 

An  Old  Man'R^Hcriflee.    Bv  Mm.  AmkH.  Stipbbni, 

The  Forvelllnl   Kuble*.     by  M.  T.  Caldob. 

The  Old  Oilken  CueRU     BySvLVANUR  Cobb,  Jr. 

The  Pearl  of  the  Ocean.     By  Claba  AudUBTA. 

Hollow  .\Rh  HbIL     Bv  M\hoaketBlodmt.    /U'd. 

Cllffe  Hou«e.     Hv  Ktta  W.  Pikhce. 

LancaRtt'r'R  Cabin.     By  Um.  M.  V.  Vicxoa      lU'd. 

Florence  Xrvlnston*!   Oath.     By  Mrs.   Uabt   A. 

IUu4:rtitr.l. 

The  Woman  Hater.   By  Dr.  J.  ll.  Robikboh.  Ill'd. 

The  California  Cabin.     By  U.  T.  Caluor. 

The  Diamond  Bracelet.     By  Mm.  Ubnbt  Wood, 


Ni. 

ir>, 

Nn. 

?1. 

Nn. 

31. 

N". 

ai. 

N,.. 

10. 

No. 

». 

No. 

(I. 

Nn 

R 

No 

«. 

No. 

A. 

No. 

1. 

Dudley  Curlvon.     By  MIm  H.  K.  Rb 

Du\ld  Hunt*     HyMto.ANS  H.iiTr.rHiint. 

The<  Heir  to  A«hlrv.    By  Mr*.  Hknbt  Wood. 

Iteitpinic  the  Whtrlwlnd*    By  Mart  Cecil  Hat. 

A  <>lMed  Mil.     K>  llitiatithor  jf "  Dora  Ttioraa." 

TheLnurf-l   IluRh.     By  Hins  Mi'loce 

Henry  Arkell.     ByHrA.  Hf.nbt  Wo«d. 

AnioR  Iturtoii.     By  nicoHOB  Ki.tuT. 

ISlut-  Eyen  and  Golden  Hair.    By  AKHiKTHOMAa. 

Captain  Allek's  I^ecary.    By  H.  T.  Caloor. 

Amonc  theKulna.     B>  Uabt  Cecil  IUt.    JU'L 

UISCELUITE07S  nCTION. 


No.ni.  GlilllT«r'a  TraTelB.  rh«  remarkable  advtnWM 
of  L«nB«l  (liiJllTir  AmoDK  ths  Lllllptitlani  and  Olaots.  4 
•Uadard  work— thia  U,ti  only  rhcapailitloo. 

No.m.  Modern  Kevllatlons.  a  larita  collftctlon  of  tte 
moal  pofQlar  rerliatlytiB.  in  |>r'Ma  atxl  vri*,  talh  for  profait* 
looa)  «I'Kutli>nlita  ari'l  aniAlt- um. 

No.  l>t.  Hound  the  Kvenlna  T.amp.  a  t>ook  of  sioriBB, 
pkiar**,  puiiiei  and  gumen.  fgr  ih.nitim  lulka  at  home. 

No.  Kl.  Popular  Heeltatlons  and  Dlalosuea,  banoroai, 
dramaiic  audpaibnii,-.  in^nu'liiid  all   th«  latcn  aivlmoBi  popular. 

No.  114  Parlor  AmuBemenU.  A  larxe  cnlleotlon  of  Aeilag 
Cbaradea,  Parlor  Draniai,  tibailuw  FaDiomimea,  Gam'>«,  Paitlaa. 
'ic      rUtatralfd. 

No.  35  <irimm'«  Fairy  Htorie«  for  the  Tounc.  The  fine* 
'rnlleciiua  vf  lair/  Bi'>rtei  publlifaed.  The  childreu  are  '{elight«d  with 
th*>ia. 

N0.S4.  Parlor  Macic  and  Chemical  Experiment*.  A 
Nook  whicb  bilia  how  U)  pt-rform  huo'lrHl*  ol  auiuiiiu([  inukila 
riiagto  aixl  ln«ir'ictiveei  pert  menu  wtih  rlni^ile  BgeotN. 

No.  ^.^  Wlnl«TEvenlnc  Ueereatlona,  a  lar(t«  colleetloa  of 
Acting  '  liAr*'!'--'.  rBbieaux.  <iariie«,  Buiztvjt,  pic..  for  locial  gathar* 
lD({a,  prlraie  Uie  ttricali  Rii<l  i-wniant  at  home.     fUuMtraied. 

No.  41.  Dlalacues,  Hecltatlona  and  Keadlnc*)  ■  tari* 
and  cb'ilce  collf^ti'iD  Tor  aebool  cibibltioDa  and  public  aud  prlvaM 
catertAlDiocaia. 

BIOQBAFSICAL  WOSES. 

No.  1^:.    The    Ulf-Mado  Men  of  Modem  Time*.     Coo- 

lalDaporirall««uii  .'.io^rH|.tit.-i  of  ramou*»fJ-riia.l._- Aoierioam,  fnu* 
the  lira*  of  /ranklli  V)  th-  (>r<-AeDt. 

No.  Ill  Tht  Mfeof  Uen.  r.  H.(;raat.  By  W.  a.  Pbtem. 
With  portrait  airt  ti.'ier  i.hiptvratioiia. 

No,  9.  DUUnculahed  People.  Thli  work  rontahia  par* 
trail*  aod  bUfrapbI«-a  nf  our  i-elebral*>d  Stateituati,  AulhorSi 
Po«t«,  Edlt«ira,  ClergyoiPii,  Pfoaoclara,  etc. 


ICSCELLAirEOTJS. 


No.  IM.  ChrlHtmiiB  Htorlea.  Br  Chabi-Bb  Dickibb.  Coq- 
tElni  E  number  ol  iln'  mott  ctianuln^  <!:hrl-iiniAa  autrle*  evar  wrll- 
l«B  by  Ihe  greal.st  writer  of  floiioH  wttoevt  r  ll»ed. 

No.  117.    Famous  Detective  Htorlea.    A  conrciionorthrlll- 
Ing  narrEtlvi-s  of  Detective  eiperleuci;,  many  of  them  wriuaa  ^      No.  «0.    The    PeopleV    Natural    History.    Contalalnf 
actual  members  of  the  profeRoloD.  '  iDtereatlaf  dearctptiuns.  Hr<-<,ni)anti"l  by  iiliiatratloDfl  of  numer* 

No.  59.     Sixteen  Complete  Htorlen  by  popular  Authora,  «m- ,  o;is  beaata,  tlnla,  r^pttl*  a,  tlAbea  and  Imecta,  vrlth  inuah  curloos 
bracing lovo,  liunioroufi  and  det«ctli«i  atorle*.  Aioriea  of  aoclety  \\t%.'  loforma'lon  reXArdlnjc  tl  elr  life  and  bablli. 

ifadventure,  of  railway  Ufe,  etc.,  eU  very  laUjreailog.  1      No.  Jl^     Perfect  Ktlqacttel    or.  How  to   Behatb  in  80- 

OIETI.  A  i-rjmp]ei<»  maiiuai  for  la1t*a  and  Keatlemeo,  Klvlnii  ths 
corr»rt  ru.ei  of  d''portm*'nt  for  all  occasions,  accordlDg  to  lbs 
iiaaKeaoftbe  b'at  Mt/'lety. 

—- -  - — .,    -. >...-,-,     Ne.  219.     Seleotluns  for  Autocraph  Albums,  Valentlnea, 

tlouB  for  niakiDgmany  beautiful  uuoga  for  the  adornaienl  of  home.    Wedding  Anulvenail-ii,  Bh  tl.  Jay  OreelTugti  and  Botniuel  PreBeo- 
iUuttrated.  latlona.     A  larg«  aud  »«lnabl«  collection. 

Decorative  Painting.    A  comprebemlva  maDual  of      No.  »l».     Ballada  of  the  War.      A  collection  of  palrlotio 
aalMnMructioti  In  ibii  beauiiful   and    uieful   art.  by  Ltoa  aod  M.    and  aonl-atlrrlnn  p-.tma,  written  it.irlnit  the  war  for  the  Union. 
'''w*''*,1?**V""'"""''«'V"'''*1*."'"*^'''"^Jf;-    ^"u*'^""^-  I     No.  ie«.    Wwndera  of  the  World,   Nattjbal  and  Otheb. 

.Nd.  1J7.     How    to    Make     Paper    Flowers.      ContEiBlDg  Conuini  deMripilom  and  illu..trail.jn*  of  the  mott  wonderful  works 
thoruugh  liiBtrucilooain  [bli   beamilul  and   um(u1  art,  Mkewtae  Id    of  nature  End  of  man.     Wry  lnior*«tUig  Etidlnvructlve. 
ihaiorinakingwaxHovsera.     /«ujfra(ed.  No.  I«7.     Wonders   of  the  Sea.      A  dewrlptloB  of  themany 

>o.  llD.     Manual  of  Fiorl'^nlture.  Teacbea  tfae  beat  method    wouderdilaud  beautiful  ihingi  funud  si  theboitooiortbeoaeau.wiik 
of  propagating  all  (he  different  plant»;  t«lla  bow  tocuredlAeaac  and,  profuwilluitraiii.nl. 


BOOKS  FOE  Uim. 

No.  125.  Ladles*  Faney  Work.  A  Dew  bo'>keoDtAiDlagdlrsc-l 


FSo.  VM. 
No.  IXi. 
No.  134. 
No.  149 

No.  las. 

No.  164. 
No.  155. 

No.  14  J. 
No.  133. 
No.  131. 
IUu4trat»d. 
No.  VAb. 
No.  IW. 


No.  IAS.  Familiar  Quotations.  Cootalolag  ths  origin  and 
autborabip  of  tUAuy  phrajw*  fr"iu<-iitly  met  Is  reading  and  couvef* 
•  attoQ.     A  Ta;uAM<>  work  of  r>'f>  rutire. 

No.  161.  Low  Life  In  >ew  York.  A  aerleA  of  vivid  pen  plo* 
tures  ibuwlLg  the  darL  ■ll't  otlifu  tn  the  greatoity.     lUtutrattd. 

No.  I6T.  The  Boad  to  Wealth.  NotanadvertlilDgalrculsr. 
but  a  thoroughly  [radical  work,  i>o!stitig  out  s  way  by  which  ai.' 
mar  make  money,  eatiili'.  rapl'llr  and  boneitly. 

No.  130.  Oae  Hundred  Popular  Honffs,  leDtlmeoUl,  path- 
etis  and  couiic,  iiiL-iiiliiig  mo«t  of  tbc  favorites,  new  and  old. 

No.  111.  Anneedotes  of  the  Rebellion.  A  coUeoUon  of 
bumoroui,  Ilat^•''.l<^  aui  tbrl.Ung  DariaUve*  of  the  war. 


No.  62.  Manual  of  Etiquette  for  Ladles  snl   Gentlemea,   % 
pcIUcufrit  aivl   goul    breedltig,  gifiug  the  rules  of  modem 


I  guide 


'  eradicattt  luiecl  pesui,  vie.     JUuitrnted. 

No.  U6.    4;aldo  to  Needlework,  Knittlnaand  Crochet. 

ConlEiuing  dL-^ignt  End  direciioni  for  all  klniLi  of  Fane*  Needle- 
work, AninioKniltroiderr.  Laca  Work,  Knitting,  Tatting,  Crochet 
andNei  Work.     IltuMtratfd. 

No.  66.  The  Home  <'ook  Hook  and  Family  Physldaa, 
>  containing  bundrels  of  excellent  cooking  r<-ci[>ea  aii'fblnta to bouae- 
keepera :  also    tclliuir  how    to  cure  all  con)mun    alliaenu. 

No.  48.    Fancy  Work  for  Home  Adorameiitt  containing 

f.^o.  1,^.     .^niviu  nsDRivHcnnee.    cv  Mm.  AMnn,  stspbibb.  **•?   •"d    prsctlcal    (nutructlons   for  making   fancy    baskela,   wall 
So.  Vn.     The  Forvelllnl   Kubles.     fey  M.  T.  Caldob.  pockets,  brackets,  nevdiework.  embroidtry.  M«.     lUuttrattd. 

No.  IXi.    The  Old  Oilken  CueaU     Bv  Svlvanur  Cobb,  Jr.  ^o.  176.     The  Common  Sense  Cook  Book.     A  thoroughly 

I  No.  134.    The  Pearl  of  the  Ocean.     Bv  Claba  AudUBTA.       reliable  and  flrst-claj.*  «ork. 
f  No.  149.    Hollow  .\Rh  HbIL     By  M*hoaret  Blocnt.    lU'd.      ,  V  ''T.    How  to  be  Your  Own  Doctor.    Aoaxcelleotined- ,  , 

«_    .n^      ^....c    ..  ..     _  „     .  _  iqji  book,  containing  simple  y.:t  ri-lialne  hoinK  rem<:diea  (or  all  the  etiqueoe  fur  ail  occasions. 

:oriimoD  cotnplaints  to  which  ninnkindis  Bubject.  So.  U.    The  Standard  Letter  Writer  fnr  Ladles  and  Gen 

No.  17M.     uuldoto  the  Toilet.  The  teeib,  bands,  hair,  breath,    ilemea,  a  complete  guide  to  c<irreii|.oiiden':e,  glvlug  plato  ditect<on* 
Upn,  skin  and  cumpUxiou  an-  lully  treated  In  thi*  b  "^k.  f>ir  the  conipo«iiir)a  of  kiiers  of  every  kind. 

No,  ITU.  HIntR  und  Helps  for  the  HouRehold.    A  oompso*      No.  ST.    Manners  and  Cuatoms  In   Far  Away  Lands,  a 
diuiQof  valunlilesLl  u^t'ful  tiounthold  lururuiBtlon,  flllsdwlthfacU,   book  of  travif.ii,  de*cri>>ing  the   p<-cu;inr  life,  babitit,  maoneri  aud 
.hinu  and  suggeatlona  upuu  a  gr<>Bl  variety  of  topics.  '  coitoms  of  the  p4^<iple  "f  fcirfiifn  countriei.    JUwitrattd. 

'  -^.M«   ...    -    ......  I     ^"•*^-    I'ltehil  Knowledge  for  tMe  Million,  a  handy  book 

BOOKS    FOa   FAuMEaS.  ©f  useful  Itttcimatton  Ii-r  all,  upon  many  and  various  auttJeots.     i*. 

_     _         By  the  author  of  ••Dora  Tborne."      No.  188.     Country  Architecture.      Containing  dsslfos  sad      No.  47. "  The  Cities  of  the  New  Worid.    A  description  of 
The  StraiiaeCase  of  Dr.  JekyUandMr.Urde.   P'<lt»rur  linuses.  CDimge*.  l>arii!i  and  o[h<>r  outbuildings.  ^\\   points  of  iauivt  ttlating  to  u<'arly  every   luiportant  city  of 

By  B- L.  &TRVE.HB«<<.  .     No.  169.     The  Stockbreeders*  Quide.     This  work  contains    America,  lllnitrated  with  bird's-eve  vlewsofeaoticlty  described. 

No.  140.  The  Lawyer's  Secret.  Bf  Misi  M.  E.  Bbaodon.  information  of  great  valuo  regnrding  the  carft  and  maoagemant,'  n„.  g.  The  History  and  Mystery  of  Common  Thincs. 
Between  Two  Slus.  Br  the  author  of  "Dora  reeding  and  renrtnir  of  horses,  c>ittlf-,  shop  and  hofti*.  lUuttrated.  Th  la  work  tulla  all  al><>ut  the  niaiitifactnre  of  the  common  and 
lUuMtrate^.  •     No.  170.     The    Whole    Subject  of    Fertlllxers.     This   Im- ,  uulllar  iblDgs  wblcb  we  aeo  every  day  about  us.     ntuUratad. 

Fair  but  False.     Br  author  of  "  Dora  Thome,"  TU'd.  porta u_t_flul:Oeot  la  fnUv  treatwl  In  this  book 
Lady  Val worth's  Diamonds.  By  "THBDaOHRBS.         "     ""      "      --    -     • 


A   Wicked  Clrl.    By  Hart  Cecil  Hat. 

A  Low  Marriage.     By  Ulis  Mulock.     TUtMrat*d. . 

L'nder  the  Lilacs.    By  the  author  of  "Dors  Tborne." 


No.  141. 
Thorne." 

No.  143. 

Mo.  144. 

No.  145. 

No.  )4<. 

No.  150. 
#*Btia     lUuatrat^i'- 

No.  151. 

Mo.  lU. 

No,  1S3. 

No.  15fl. 

No.  1J1. 

No.  122. 

No.  lai. 

No.  l:U 


The  Nine  of  Hearts.  By  B.  L.  Fabjboh. 
Dorla's  Fortune.  I^r  Florbmck  Warden. 
A    Pla)*  Wright's    Daughter.    By  Mrs.  awnikED' 


ig  the  Fetters.     By  Mrs.  AlxxandkB. 
olson  of  Asps.     By  Fi.'iBENCKUABaTAT. 
By  Mn.  Hrnry  Wot>i>. 


No.  171.    Fruit  C'ulture  for  Proflt.    In  tbitbooklBslrens      N.  B.  —  Any  Of  the foreKOlni?  numbers  cf  TnR  LsmuRI 

Tsat  amount  »{  UBefui  luformBtiou  fur  growers  of  all  klodBoffruiu.l  Hoi'R  LihRaRT  will  t^  Kent  by  mall  poRt-paiiJ  upon  re* 
liUuJtratfld.  ceipt  of  price,  only  fftree  cents  each,    rustomerH  will  ob* 

No.  172.     Success    In    the   Garden*    Contains  vaitiEbie  la*  serve  tlie  economy  in  postane  and  ^tatio^e^y  s<^cured  b* 
formation    regarding  the  euccesiful  growiugof  all  kinds  of  »e|et-   orderinK  several  numbers  at  a  time.     I'nRtage  stanipBWlfl 


ables.     /ffUAtrafeif. 


No.  173.    The  Ureat  SMpIc     ronulm  T.lo.H.  blntaud   berniwlinn  tliene  are  plainly  Riven,  to  write  the  name  of 


No.  11». 


Forglui 

The  P.    

Moat  (arange. 

The  <iiulltr  Klver.     PyWii.EiECuLi.iNa. 

Agatha's  History.     Bv  Marsarkt  Bi.uumt.  No.  174.     Iloine.made  Farm  Implcmenta.    Contalna  diree- 

Out  of  the  ^    -A.     By  (?LAKA  Ariit;BTA.  tk)us  for  making  uKeful  ami   lal>ni  »itvi::g  utensils,  all  of  which  are 

The  Story  of  a  Storm.      By  Mrs.  Jakk  0.  Atwn».i''oi'»'«n'pJ  »i"* 'i  >v  lie  ea-.lly  idh^i.-,    Iiiuf^rated. 

The  Evil  Genius.     By  kl   T.  Oaldor.  Nu.  175.     Guide  to  Suecesaful  Poultry  Keeping.    A  eon- 

The  Mystery  at  Blackwood  Grange,    By  Mrs.  pl^ta  poultry   book,  giving  the   fullest  informatloa  regartlhig  this 


be  received  an  cash.  Patron«  will  pleapo  order  by  thenum- 


useful  fcuggeatlons  retcurdliig  tbu  caUurc  of  whvat,  ovrD,  potatoes, 
bay,  etc.     Illuttrattd. 
No.  17 


Mat  AnNsaPLEHiNU. 
No.  103.    TheLast'ofthv  Kuthvens.  By  MliiMDLooR.  JU'd. 
No.  101.    The  Morwlck  Farm  Mystery.    By  WiLSta  Cul- 
UN8.     TUuilratfd. 
No.  100.    Ontof  the  Depths.     By  »van  Oonwat. 

Ketrlbutlon.     By  Mahoarkt  Bt.ooht. 

A  Tale  of  Sin.     By  Mrs.  Henrt  Woon. 

A  Fortune  Hunter.     By  Amnie  Trohab.  IJVd. 

Wedded  and  Parted.     Br  author  of  '■  Dora  Tborne." 

The  Knlghtsbrldgo  Bfyiitery.  ByCiiABLXBRBAoa. 


proBtable  pursuit.    iUuitrattd. 


BUUOBOVS  BOOZS. 


the  Btory  or  work  U  unnec«HBary. 
b»loa 


AddrefM  thu  Publisher, 


No.  11 


it>i. 


No 

No.  98. 
No.  97. 
No  M. 
No.  95. 
JUiAsn 

No.  94, 

No.  ai. 

No.  as. 

No.  91. 

No.  «'. 

No.  cy. 
"DoraTb 
,   No.  M. 

No.  M. 

No.  («, 

No.  H5. 
;  No.m. 
■     No.  (rt 

No.  82. 

No.  M. 

No.  80. 


Inglf^dew  House.     By  the  author  of  "  ]jor^  Tburue.' 
A  Paanlvo  Crime.     By'<THB  Uuchebb." 
Kose  Lodge.     By  Wrs.  Hbvrt  Wood.  i 

A  Bridge  of  Love.  By  thu  author  of  "Dor*  Thorne.'' 
The  Fatal  Marriage^     By  Miia  M.  K.  Braduon. 
A    Queen    Amougat    Women.     By  the   author  of 


No.  lie.    The  Aunt  lUagiilrn  Document*.    BytlMsalhor      T 

'" ■■'  Beiiott    I'avkrs  "     (Jnr  of  the  fonnleat  books       JJ  '    ^Z' 

No!  14.' 


'Tub 


The  Blatchlbrd  Bequest.     BvHt.<QuroNWAT.  IWd 
The  Curae  of  Care  w.     Hv  author  of"  Dora  T'^orne." 
A  Nhudotvon  t  ho  Threshold.   By  Mart  CKritilAT. 
The  Futul  Llllca.     By  the  author  of  "  Ltnra  Thorue." 
4'Mrrlaton*s  4*llt.     By  Ilt'uti  ConwaT.     /2ftis(iafeil. 
More  Itllterthan  Death.    Bv  author"  DoraThornr," 
Mlas  or  Mrs.  I     By  Wileir  Coi.i.inb.     JUuttruted. 
In  the  Tlolldays.     By  Uart  Ckcii.  Hat. 
The  UamanUo  Adveaturea  of  a  Milkmaid.    By 
Vbomab  Ukhi>y. 

No.  79.     A  Dead  Heart.     By  the  author  of"  Dora  Ibome.'' 

No.  71.     l^ark  Days.    By  Hui.ii  Conwat. 

No.  76.     Nhadou  R  on  the  Snow.     By  B.  I,.  Parjbon. 

Ho.7.%      At  the   World'*  Mercy.     By  Plobenlb  Wabdim. 

No.  74.     CHlled   Ituek.     By  HuoH  'Jonwat. 
1   No.  "3.     Mlldrtd  Trevanlon.     By  "  The  Ddcbebb," 

No.  71     In  Cupid's  .Net.     Hy  the  sulbor  of"  Dors  Thome." 

Na  Tl.     The  (.rcy   Woman.   By  lira.  Oabbill.  IttuMtrattd. 

No.  70.     The  .Myatery  of  the  Holly  Tree.    By  the  author 
•f<*  Dors  Thome."  illuitrale4^ 

Ko.w,    Oabrtel's  Marria^ie.    By  WiLaiaOoLLiifs.  fU'd. 


aver  ptibllalied— fully  egnni  to  '    Widow  Ut-dnlt 

No.  199.  BMah  Beanpole's  Adventures  In  New  York. 
By  the  authn.  of  "The  Mibb  Bmmmbmh  Papebb."  FntI  of 
funny  altuatlonB,  laughable  Incldetita  and  ridiculous  acrapes. 
A  great  tiuniornus  book.    /JJiisfr'itnf. 

Nn.  159-  *' A  Pleasure  Exertion  "and  Other  Sketches, 
by  loaiAK  A**vna  Wips.'  A  collection  of  itrr«lstibly  fuDoy 
sketches,    b"  ine  m  'St  popular  bunioroua  writtr  of  the  day. 

'^■'  l-Aj.  '■'he/unt  Kestah  Papers.  By  Claba  Aloubta. 
author  of  "  Thv  Ru  ,g  liofununis.  "  A  mom  ridlcnlou«ly  fnnny  Inwk 
— <)ultoss  laughanip  and  in  evi^iy  wave>iiial  to  "WIpIow  Bi-dott." 

No.  78.  The  Widow  Beuott  Paper*.  By  Prances  M. 
Whitches.  This  Is  the  l>o»k  over  which  your  grandmother*  laugheil 
till  iht-y  cried,  and  It  isjii*t  as  fuimv  lo  day  as  it  eter  waf 

No.  118.  YankeuWit  and  Humor.  A  collecilun  of  humor- 
ous stories,  Hkeichex,  pnoms  and  pHragrapbB  by  the  leading  funny 
men  of  the  Anifrl^an  jir*>Rs.     /(luafrati'if . 

No.&A.  ThelBuagetof  Wit,  Humor  and  Fan,  s  large 
oolleotlon  of  funny  aiories,  sketches,  auecdotes,  poems  ::ud  iokes. 
mu$ttaf«d. 


Mttafe 


FOETICAL  WOBSS. 


No.  lit).  Poems,  by  John  G.  Whlttler.  The  only  cheap 
Sdltlon  published—  hoiild  be  in  everY  hi.uieh"ld.     /IIiufratMl. 

No.  ill.  Pocm«.  by  Henry  W.  Loagf^Uow.  Noonecan 
aOfbrd  to  be  wlthout'tbla  collection  of  p'lems  by  the  master  of  Amer- 
lean  poetry.     lUtutraUd. 

No.  1.  Poeais,  by  Alfred  Tennyson.  This  work  eontsJns 
itome  of  hla  Bnestooni|iosltlonR. 

No.  34.  The  Ludy  of  ^he  Lake.  By  Sir  WALTEadsorr.  A 
'oniBDce  In  verse. 

No.  4S.  Jean  Ingc1ow*s  Poeaa.  All  the  0ntai  warkssfthU 
great  poetess  are  given  Id  this  book. 


BOUBLE  KUUBEBS,  SIZ  CEKT3  EACH. 

The  following  are  i>ou&(«  A'um6<rr«.  Junt  twice  the  size  of 
the  fureffolDK-  They  comprlne  the  longer  novels,  and  wff 
h«nd  any  ot  them  by  mail  post-paid  upon  receipt  of  prlMt 
tiz  cents  each: 

My  Lady*s  Money.    By  Wilkib  Coi.i.iitfl.    /U'tL 

Second  ThougliU.    By  Bhoda  Bbocuhtom. 

Dora  Thome.    By  Cbari.ottk  M.  Bbaehe. 

Darrell  MarLham.    B.v  Miss  M   R  Bbaodov. 

4'briRtlait**  Mistake.    By  Miss  HirtocK. 

f'ouNln  Henry.    By  asthunt  iHnr.i.opR. 

A  Mar  uitd  u  Heart.    By  Plorenle  Uabbtat. 

blla*  Murner.     IpyUKHBi.K   Rliut. 

Uuehel  (iruy.    By  Jui.ia  Katanaob. 

Bread  and  Cheesieand  Kisses.    By  B,  t»  PAsnom 

Lord  Lyiine*s4'holce.  Bv  author  of  "  DoraTboitia" 

The  Two  DeRllnle*.    B>  WtLKia  Collinb. 

Paraon  4>urlund'H    Daughter.    By  Hlas  Mdlooi. 

\  Strange   HetrlbutloD.      By  Hra.  U.   B.  Kt>so» 

Peg  Wufflngton.      By  Ciiablei  Rraur. 

The  Captuln's  Uoom.     by  Walter  Bebant. 

Sister  Dora.     ByMAHHABXT  Lonsmale.    iUuJtrstsA 

LlL     By  Mis.  FitTaKHflToifRAuaB. 

Brenda  Yorke.     By  Makv  OKctt.  Hat. 

Ihe  Shadow  of  a  Sin.  By  author  of  *'  Dora  Thoroo." 
At  War  with  Herself.    By  author  "  Dors  TUoras^ 
In   a   Winter  City.      By"Oou.A,V 
The  Haunted  Tower.    ByMra.  Henry  Wood. 
That  Beaatlfiil   Wretch.     By  Wii  tiAU  Black 
Mr.   GIlBI's   Love  Story.     By  liaonoif  Eliot. 
At  Bay.    By  Mrs    alkxasufr,    TUuttratad. 
IHs  Second  Wife.     By  Miss  H.  K.  BkADDOP.    OPI, 
Ho.  IM.    The  Island  Prisoner.    By  M.  T.  Caluos. 

Agents  wanted,  to  whom  we  will  send  t«nn8  oa  applla^ 
tloo.    All  orders  should  be  addreuBad  : 

r.  M.  LUPTON,  Publisher, 

No.  03  Murray  St.,  Naiw  «( 


K,» 

It 

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1«. 

No 

11. 

No 

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No 

21 

No 

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No 

11. 

No 

10 

No 

'St. 

No 

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No 

IV. 

No 

40. 

No 

41. 

No 

41 

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irj 

No 

101 

No.  105 

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ion 

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104 

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